


Beneath the Skin

by avian_magic



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Consent is Sexy, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, No Chaste Marriage Here, Sexy Accents Are Sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-16 02:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14154918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avian_magic/pseuds/avian_magic
Summary: "Pelle sub agnina latitat mens saepe lupina."Under a sheep’s skin often hides a wolfish mind.She has heard whispered tales of the man she is to marry. Her sister compared him to a prowling wolf, hidden beneath the skin of a sheep.She prays to the Maker that her sister is wrong.





	1. In Your Heart Shall Burn

Before duty had called him back home, his days were spent sleeping away daylight. When the sun eventually fell, he would prowl the streets, whoring and drinking and fighting. The only companions he wished to have were the ones that either spread their legs for him or bought him drinks – all the better if they were both. Women had been objects of desire, worth little more than granting him mindless pleasure or stroking his ego; men had been competition, their value measured in terms of their threat to his masculinity. Money was ever-flowing, a well that never ran dry and always produced more. 

There had been a foul darkness inside of him, one that he had thought purged from his soul the day he took his vows. But as it turned out, vows do not make a man a man – no more than a crown makes a king. Praying did not make one explicitly devout, especially if one only prayed to the Maker or Andraste out of greed or desperation, and murder did not count as justice.

He had come to learn many things from his time in Kirkwall. Family friends could become corrupt, tyranny could be found in even the Maker’s most holy servants, and kindness could be found in the darkest of people; Politics infected the Chantry, elves could make something of themselves, and money bought silence even from Templars. Most importantly, he had learned that time made people become more of who they truly are - Lady Harimann a conniver, Hawke a respectable man, Fenris a believer, Anders a zealot, and Meredith a tyrant. 

And he, a wolf. 

Donning the Chantry robes did not make him pure and taking the vows of chastity and poverty did not quell his desire for flesh and gold. It had merely diminished them, the thought of being able to live without it all lulling him into a state of peaceful existence. Life had grown less complicated, less diluted with politics and complexities. The change had been wonderful, a sign from Andraste and the Maker that this was the path that he should follow. Surely if he let the Maker guide him, he would continue to live peacefully and happily with his choices, and without regrets.

But his peace burned, and with it, his heart. Murderers, killers, monsters – his family’s blood was on their hands from a ruthless slaughter. The legacy that his family had worked so tirelessly to create, decimated, destroyed. When he had found out he felt his blood run cold, but his insides burned with the fires of vengeance clutching at his heart. Time had lured him into a false sense of being, allowing him to carefully fabricate the perfect world and the perfect person that he could aspire to be. 

It wasn’t all a lie, naturally. He believed in the Maker, he knew the Chant of Light by heart, and he had always tithed faithfully when he had money to give. Part of him had wanted to believe that the simple life was enough to be happy with. It would have made things far less complicated. For a while, he _did_ believe in his own happiness, knew it to be true for a short while, but time had a way of revealing the true nature of men and women.

When he had discovered the source of the assassins, who had hired them, he had felt that familiar hunger for vengeance pulsing through him. It felt sickening, too overwhelming for him to maintain, but somehow he had kept a cool head. The desire demon, Allure, had spoken honeyed words that struck all too closely to the truth in his heart and mind. He had ignored her, tilted his chin high in determined defiance, but that had not made her silken words that crept through his mind any less true. Something had riled the beast inside of him, reminding him of the days when he had allowed his whims to carry him, and his choices were his alone to be made. 

Sebastian, even now, however, wished to see reason in his family’s death. Men’s evil was their own doing, their actions their own doing, their choices explicitly their own. The Maker could not force the hand of man into action, no more than a man could call down the Maker to smite his enemies. Even so, surely this had not been the Maker’s intention, for Sebastian to claim the throne and give up his vows to the Chantry. The timing was all very convenient, perhaps too much so, to ignore. He wished not to let his family’s line perish, and he wished not for their deaths to have been in vain. 

He had been the exile, the unwanted, and the unworthy. 

Yet duty had called him back to reclaim his throne. And here he sat. 

Devotion to his duty kept his mind busy, a replacement to the devotion that he had once placed so heavily to the Maker. Some days, he felt like a weathervane, blowing whichever direction the wind carried him, swept up in whatever calling the Maker placed before him next. This duty, however, was one far greater than his duty to his faith or the Chantry. It was a position of power that he only dreamt of having as a child, had jealously envied his brother for being the heir to it all. Now that he had it, he almost questioned if he wanted it.

The wolf in him whispered yes.

Following the chaos in Kirkwall, Sebastian returned to his home. The welcome he had received had been lukewarm with some at best, but there was mostly an overwhelming amount of acceptance on the matter. They cared little for his cousin’s position on the throne, and with a little work, it all belonged to him. The years that trickled by had allotted him few moments of pleasure or respite in his new role, never once granting him the opportunity to bask in the luxuries he had so once enjoyed. Though if he were to be honest, there was plenty of enjoyment in knowing that he was a prince people respected and looked up to. His efforts in assisting with Kirkwall being rebuilt certainly helped, too.

He slid into the role of Prince of Starkhaven far better than he – or anyone, for that matter – had expected. It came naturally to him, almost as naturally as shooting an arrow or breathing or walking. He had never thought he would have been a suitable prince, wanting the title in his youth if only for the powers that came with it. While those were definitely not ignored bonuses of the new position, they dulled in comparison to his ability to change things, to make things better.

He was doing the Maker’s work. Sebastian had committed himself to this belief. For a while, it had drowned out the howling of the wolf inside. For a fleeting moment, he thought that his faith and control had won out. In doing the Maker’s work and following the path laid before him, he had finally silenced the rebellion wanting to rage to life inside him. He had become the man that his family had always wished him to be, a man that would have made his parents proud rather than ashamed. 

But, again: time discloses the truth, especially in people. 

Sebastian believed more firmly in the Maker, but to be sure. He became a leader and the prince that Starkhaven needed. 

Then there was the wolf inside. He could never get too far from it before he could hear its call. He liked to call it a wolf, but he knew it was really him, the darker part of him. The howls provoked him, and certain things provoked the wolf to howl. When nobility that questioned his claim to the throne begged for his favor, the wolf would howl, and he would narrow his eyes in a glare. Whenever someone dared to accuse him of abandoning his vows for sake of power alone, the wolf would howl, and Sebastian would remind them firmly of his cousin who had no place on the throne. 

He remembered the expectations of his older brothers, and that familiar heat would flow through his veins. He remembered all that he needed to protect, needed to do, needed to devote himself to, and the animal inside of him would roar to life. In a way, it was more welcome than remaining complacent with his own existence, but other times he needed to remember to watch his tongue. Biting back words became easier as time went on, and soon Sebastian had expertly learned to hide the wolf beneath his skin, no matter how it clawed and raked at his insides.

Nothing could tame the beast – it could only be temporarily appeased. 

Which brought him to now, keeping his skills sharp while maintaining control over the beast within. He raised his bow, pulling the drawstring and aiming with a keen eye. His fingers released the arrow, not moving until the satisfying sound of the arrowhead sinking into wood filled the silence. His lips quirked into a smirk, immediately readying another arrow with smooth precision and ease. 

The faint crunching of snow only barely registered in his mind. He held his position, briefly recalling how difficult this task used to be when he was younger. His grandfather would surely be proud now. 

“Your Highness?” 

Sebastian released the arrow, shifting his eyes towards the voice with an unintentionally icy stare. The arrow shattered the first, the wobbly twang still echoing through the small practice yard as he lowered the bow.

“Seneschal Lachlan,” he addressed calmly, only casting a glance over before returning to his practice. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“W-Well…ah…Your Highness,” he began, his fidgeting visible from the peripherals of Sebastian’s vision. “I come once again to broach the topic of your marriage. You need an heir - _Starkhaven_ needs an heir.”

Another arrow pierced into the target. “How many times is this now, Lachlan?”

“Ah…I do not keep count, Your Highness.”

Another arrow. “Fifteen, Lachlan,” Sebastian answered, lowering the bow to rest one end on the ground, his hands resting atop the other side. “It has been precisely _fifteen_ times in _a month_. That’s once every other day.”

“That sounds correct.”

“What is my answer every time thus far, Seneschal?” Sebastian turned his gaze onto the Seneschal, keeping his expression placid while he waited for him to speak.

“With all due respect, Your Highness, perhaps leaving this to the Maker’s judgment is not the most advisable action? You are not getting any younger, Your Highness…”

Sebastian slung the bow around his shoulder, narrowing his eyes for a moment. _Quiet, young wolf._ His brows knit together before he shrugged a shoulder, adopting a dangerous smile. He felt the predatory pride swell in his chest as Seneschal Lachlan squirmed beneath his unwavering gaze. 

“You speak the truth,” the prince stated slowly. “But I believe this is the Maker’s path for me. I have always followed what He has laid before me in good faith. I don’t believe it has failed me yet.” 

Sebastian swept past the Seneschal, whose round face had grown pink from no doubt the combination of exertion, embarrassment, fear, and the cold chill of winter. In his earthy-toned clothing, he stood out against the white snow and marble pillars scattered about the small yard. And for a moment, Sebastian appreciated the silence that he had comfortably enjoyed before the Seneschal had found him yet again.

The sound of flapping papers made his lips twitch. 

“Your Highness, please…!”

The prince stopped, halting just before reentering the palace, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Time and tide waits for none, Seneschal. I am well aware, of course,” he breathed. His hand stretched out towards him, however, eyes holding a silent warning that he couldn’t contain. “But Andraste’s tears, if it will silence you for but five minutes, I will look through your stack of papers.” 

He didn’t even wait for Lachlan’s reply, swiping away the papers perhaps a bit too briskly before turning sharply on his heels. The leather soles of his boots clacked on the marble floor, and he lamented at the loss of the crisp, fresh air once he stepped within his palace. At the very least, his world had returned to momentary silence, the Seneschal’s non-stop prattling no longer following him. It was a wise choice on his part not to follow.

In spite of his annoyance with the advisor, he did stick to his own word by flippantly flicking through the papers. There were at least 50 women in here, noble women outlined in details perhaps far too great to seem anything other than obsessive. He recognized some of the names – there were a few Starkhaven nobles in this stack – though many failed to ring a bell in his mind. Then again, knowledge of nobility or important families across Thedas hadn’t exactly been at the forefront of the Exiled Prince’s mind when he had been in Kirkwall.

By the time he settled in his study, he had only gotten through three of the papers, and already felt his frustrations beginning to surface. This felt absolutely ridiculous, and while he was fully aware this was part of his duty to Starkhaven and his family, he couldn’t shake the annoyance away. Perhaps he should just toss them into the fire and watch them burn, and tell Lachlan to work on a whole new collection of women so that he could stay out of Sebastian’s hair.

Before he could stop himself, the wolf had temporarily domineered his consciousness, and he moved to throw the papers into the hearth, pre-lit thanks to the one of the servants, no doubt. A miniscule spark of regret danced at the outskirts of his thoughts, but it didn’t last very long. 

He sighed, rubbing his face. “Maker guide me.” And then he threw them into the fire.

One, however, flicked away from the fire tossed right back out of the hearth, dancing almost a little too gracefully to his feet. Sebastian narrowed his eyes, plucking it from the ground and reading it over. The dark part of him was satisfied for now, and offered no resistance against reading this last remaining page. 

And he liked what he read.

_I have your answer, Seneschal. Thank you, Maker and blessed Andraste._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian has always been one of my favorite characters. I believe his character suffered due to lack of development, which led a lot of people to go to the default of finding him boring. It's their opinion, and they're free to have it, of course!
> 
> My own opinion, after going through and listening to the banter audio, is that Sebastian has a lot of potential as a character. He's not a crazed zealot that many people seem to pinpoint him as - he even mentions to Merrill that there are similarities between the lore and stories of the Dalish Gods and the Maker. He goes as far to mention that they are perhaps different names for the same divine force that created the world itself. 
> 
> I took many liberties with his character here, if only because I suspect that there are plenty of things which would have changed him once he reclaimed his throne. He is still devout, but has found more of a distinguishable balance between both his faith and his duty to the throne - while also digging up some primal feelings that he buried from his youth. 
> 
> Please be kind, as I've been a bit rusty, and this is the first thing I've wanted to throw myself into writing for a while. It's my intention for this to only be 10 chapters long since that's what I have written so far, but if people seem to enjoy the writing, then I'd be more than happy to dive into writing more. 
> 
> Until then, please enjoy. And yes, there will be smut. ;)


	2. What Hath Man's Sin Wrought?

When the raven came carrying the news, she had been with her sister and nephews in the garden at their family’s estate in Kirkwall. Fresh snow fell from the sky, softening the sounds of their conjoined laughter as they built snowmen together. Her nephews had struggled to lift the snow head on top of the other two. 

It was these moments that reminded her of her duty to her family, the one that she had yet to fulfill while her older siblings had long ago. Naturally, time had played its own part – she was four years younger than her sister, and they were the closest in age. Even so she often felt a pang of guilt whenever her eyes fell upon her siblings and their children, a constant reminder that she had yet to do what was expected of her. Her Orlesian mother had a much more practical approach to the matter of marriage – politics first, love second. While it got the desired effect, she often found herself uneasy when it came to marriage proposals.

Her unease had only grown after meeting the Arl of Denerim, Vaughan Kendells. His superficial charm had promptly melted away to reveal his cruelty towards his elven servants, and his horrific display did not end there. The Arl, clearly accustomed to getting what he wanted whenever he asked for it, had assumed too much. His justification had been something along the lines of their union being inevitable if they were to marry.

It was a meeting cut short very abruptly. 

At the slightest sound of disagreement – a quiet ‘no’ from her lips – and her mother swept into the room like a dragon. She was all honeyed words and smiles, but Vaughan had lost his color. She could remember the way his fingers unclasped from her upper arm, and the burning bruises that his grip had left behind on her flawlessly white skin. 

The Arl learned that day that no one dared to mistreat Lady Charlotte Lenore Grimard Faulkner’s children – especially not her precious, youngest daughter. Needless to say, Lady Charlotte had pulled weight within certain circles, sent out a few ravens, and Vaughan Kendells no longer held the title of Arl of Denerim. To this day, she had no clue what her mother had done. It was truly astonishing how much influence her mother had, especially when someone had wronged her or her family. 

Since then, Cherie had been hesitant when it came to offers, coming or going, about her hand in marriage. 

So when her mother strode into the gardens, waving the paper like a banner of victory over her head, Cherie had only grown stiff and nervous at the expression on her mother’s face.

“Oh! Wonderful news, my little Cherie!” Her mother’s hooded blue eyes had the slightest wrinkles at the edges, which coincided with the way she smiled with bliss. “You would not believe who has extended an offer of marriage!”

Cherie looked towards her sister, Odette, who raised an eyebrow and shrugged a shoulder. The sisters said nothing, allowing the silence to hang in the gardens before looking towards their mother. Her free hand lifted the skirt of her flowing, elaborate dress, the other waving the paper for Cherie to take and read.

Gently, she took the paper and let her eyes scan over the pristine writing. 

_His royal Highness, Prince Sebastian Vael of Starkhaven…_

“The bloody Prince of Starkhaven?” Odette shouted, making Cherie jump and clutch the paper to her chest. Her older sister tossed her hands up. “Maker’s breath, Mother! How many strings have you pulled to make this happen?” Before Cherie could open her mouth, her sister swiped the paper from her fingers to read it. 

“Odette!” Cherie lifted her skirts, and spun to try and snatch it back from her sister. It was almost as if they were back to being little children all over again. “Give that back! I would like to _read_ my _own_ proposal, if you do not mind!”

“Girls!” Their mother scolded, though her tone was lightened by the laughter in her voice and the smile on her face. “This is a grand example you set for your sons, Odette. And to answer your question, dear girl, that’s simply the most enticing part. I had not yet sent an offer to Prince Sebastian…”

“What?” Cherie and her sister replied in unison, staring at their mother. 

This time, Lady Charlotte plucked the letter from Odette, saying nothing as she briskly waved her hand in dismissal. “I will reply to this immediately. Do pack your nicest things, my darling Cherie! We will leave Kirkwall in the morning!”

The doors back into the estate from the gardens slammed shut, and Cherie could only stare after her mother, blinking in confusion. So many things about this situation were perplexing, the most obvious being that this was not her mother’s doing. What could have possibly made her known to the Prince of Starkhaven? As she toyed nervously with her gloves, she cast a glance towards her older sister, who had just as much a look of befuddlement as she did.

When their eyes met, her sister’s green eyes sparkled with something that she couldn’t quite put a name to. And then Odette moved closer, slipping her arms around Cherie’s. “Dear sister, you and I must discuss something. Boys,” she turned to address her two sons, far too preoccupied in their snowman crafting to have paid any mind to what had just transpired. “I want you out here no more than one more hour. Your father would never let me hear the end of it if you two managed to catch a cold in Kirkwall in spite of being _Ferelden_. Understood?”

“Yes, Mum.” The pair of brunette boys didn’t even look up from their tasks.

“What charming young sons I have. They take after Fergus,” Odette mumbled. One of her hands slipped to her stomach, to the bump slowly making itself known. “Maker, bless me with a _daughter_ this time.”

All the while, her sister began leading her inside, escaping the gentle cold of Kirkwall by retreating indoors. Their home was warm, and Cherie immediately smiled in contentment. Their boots clacked on the stone floors, muffled only when they strode across the sprawling, beautiful, Antivan rugs. 

During their time in silence, Cherie had time to appreciate her older sister, appreciate their similarities and differences. Odette wasn’t much taller, but had far more curves, excluding the bump of her stomach, of course. They had both inherited their Orlesian mother’s high cheekbones, porcelain skin, and blonde hair. Cherie had always been jealous of how thick her sister’s hair was, and how it had the most beautiful curls whenever she let it down. Compared to her sister’s golden locks, her own was more pale – and though Cherie found it a bit boring, her mother repeatedly reminded her that if Empress Celene wore her straight, pale, pastel blonde hair elegantly, so could Cherie.

Odette’s round face tapered down to a strong jaw line, ending in a round chin, features that had come from their father. The slightest sprinkle of freckles sat just on the bridge of her straight, thin nose. Which wrinkled as she smiled down at her sister. She had thicker, fuller lips than Cherie did, but the general bow shape of their lips was the same.

“Well, well…the bloody Prince of Starkhaven,” Odette chuckled, finally breaking the silence. “Judging by that absolutely baffled look on your face, I assume you don’t have the slightest idea, do you?”

Cherie continued to let her sister lead her down the hallway, guiding her towards the foyer. “About what?”

“Oh, this is precious!” Odette snort in laughter. “Then again, I do suppose you wouldn’t. I am so glad I could be here to witness this. Even better, I’m glad I chose this exact moment to visit with the boys!”

“Odette…” 

“Sorry, sorry,” she laughed. “How long has it been? Ten years? Perhaps a bit more. Anyways, you had plenty of tutors and read a lot. Mother emphasized the importance of knowing nobility to you, but how much do you know about the Vael family?”

“They were murdered, I believe…except for one?” It was less confident than she had intended, but that was only because she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about her sister’s intense stare.

“Correct. Prince Sebastian, however, wasn’t always in the running for the throne…he was a Chantry brother, fresh into his vows when his family was murdered. But he gave those vows up in order to fulfill his duty to Starkhaven as the last remaining Vael. But, do you know anything of the Vael’s before their assassination?”

Cherie swallowed, following her sister up the stairs, their arms still tangled. She scoured her mind for the history that her tutors had so carefully helped etch into her mind. “They take no title of king, because—”

“Andraste’s tits, sister, _no!_ ”

“Y-You said to—“

“I _know_ what I said. This just means you have no clue,” Odette said slowly. The smile slithered back onto her lips when they reached the top of the stairs, and her sister said nothing until they slipped inside of Cherie’s room. “Before His Highness became His Highness, he was a Chantry brother. Before he took his vows, however…he was the exact opposite.”

Cherie shrugged out of her cloak, shaking the snow off before hanging it near her door. Her brow furrowed, lips pursing tightly as she took a place on her bed, blue eyes following her sister as she did the same, sitting beside her on the bed. For a moment, Odette fell back into a contemplative silence, her expression concentrated as she absentmindedly rubbed her stomach.

“I don’t know what you mean…”

“He was a sodding rake,” Odette said bluntly. “A complete knob-head, who spent more time making women at the Blooming Rose cry out for the Maker than he should have spent _praying_ to the Maker.”

Cherie’s cheeks darkened. “Y-You mean he…” She couldn’t bear to finish the question. 

By no means was Cherie ignorant to what went on between certain consenting adults. She knew what sex was, but that didn’t make her familiar with the subject. At least, from the sounds of it, not as familiar as the man who would become her husband was. She wasn’t entirely sure how to take this information, either. 

“Had lots and lots of sex,” Odette answered for her, though in wording far more crass. It was no wonder that she and Fergus were perfect for one another. “I never went near him. I knew Mother would skin me alive if she found out if I went and had some brief, petty dalliance; and don’t get me started if Father found out. Incredibly handsome and charming, But not my type, either.”

Cherie thought a moment. “Because he didn’t smell like a wet mabari?” 

Odette rolled her eyes. “I was going to say _pretentious_ , dear sister, but do go ahead and take a jab at my husband all you wish.”

“Well you don’t describe him as being pretentious, you describe him as a…a…rake.”

“Sorry, did I hurt your innocent, pure ears? I deliver a thousand apologies upon you, my darling Cherie,” Odette drawled, flopping back against Cherie’s bed. She didn’t move, just staring up at the canopy of the bed. “I only mean to say that men like that don’t change, Cherie. You are…naïve to this world. Certainly, you’ve encountered one of the most unsavory men, Vaughan Kendalls…but the scariest ones are the men where you can’t tell at all until it’s too late.”

“Mother would know about this, wouldn’t she? She wouldn’t be so excited about this proposal, then.”

She could feel Odette shrug more than see it. “Mother likely knows more than she lets on. If I had to guess the first reason she was so enthralled by the idea, I would say it’s because he is the _Prince_ of Starkhaven. That is well above titles of Arl, Teryn, Duke, or Lord. Plus…I assume she has reason to believe he has no bastard children from his whoring, and that he is a man who isn’t likely to abuse you. Perhaps he did change, but I don’t think I’d advise getting on your knees to pray around him…”

Cherie darkened again. “Odette!”

“I’m merely being honest. That man may have a clean slate and may sing praises to the Maker and his family duty now, but just because a wolf pup is raised nursing from an ewe, it doesn’t mean he won’t return to instinct to devour her later.”

“Odette…”

“Just keep it in mind, sister…if you haven’t read Swords and Shields or The Art of Passionate Love, you best find yourself a copy of both…”

“Odette!” With a grunt, Cherie tossed a pillow at her sister, promptly covering her own face in flushed embarrassment. 

Her sister easily swat the fluffy object away with a sweep of her hand, chuckling lightly. After a moment she sat upright again, rubbing her stomach with delicate fingers. The silence that pervaded the room was pleasant for the most part, if not for the fact that Cherie could hear her own train of thought again. 

“You are quiet and sweet, dear sister…but never be afraid to raise your voice to your husband. I yell at Fergus quite often…”

Cherie pursed her lips, toying with her sleeves. “You yell at _everyone_ quite often, Odette…”

“I’m trying to be a helpful older sister here, my dear. What I mean to say is, you’re soft and gentle; we all know you’re eager to please. If he ever tried anything, don’t be afraid to tell him to sod off.”

“That’s the point of being married, though, right?” Cherie asked after a moment. She couldn’t erase the tone from her voice that begged her sister to tell her otherwise. If anyone could deliver brutal honesty, it was her older sister.

“Mother would certainly have you believe that, of course. Orlesians and their politics. Our mother just wants to take a page from Queen Asha’s book, expand our legacy, ensure that we don’t have our eggs in only a single basket.”

“Yes, mother does like to reiterate that politics come before love in a marriage…” Cherie lowered her head, hoping that wasn’t the case.

“I will say one thing,” Odette began, touching her leg with a reassuring pat. “It helps when your husband-to-be _doesn’t_ look as though he toppled down the ugly cliff and hit every rock on the roll down. Should you see him and feel that weak wobble in your knees, know that to be lust. Don’t confuse that feeling with love, Cherie. But know that love often sprouts from seeds of lust when nurtured in the waters of time.”

Her sister was never this eloquent, but Cherie appreciated the words more than she had appreciated the teasing. Rather than say anything, she simply sat in peaceful quiet beside her sister, mulling over the words, occasionally fidgeting with her own fingers or sleeves. Odette’s words continued to ring through her mind like Chantry bells, eventually fading back into relative silence. The questions did not assault her mind like they had before, but they came calmly now, laced with what Cherie could only assume was the standard amount of anxiety when it came to an arranged marriage. To a prince. That was once a man who thoroughly enjoyed whoring. Who may or may not be a dangerous deviant hiding beneath of veil of falsehood.

_Oh, Maker._

“Well…let us go downstairs. Mother will surely want to discuss things with you before the morning…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some uninteresting notes for this story:
> 
>   * This story takes place in late to mid Firstfall 9:41, Dragon. As such, Sebastian is 32; Cherie is 26.
>   * Cherie's mother is the son of Duke and Duchess Grimard of Orlais, her father, the Duke, whom apparently has some relation to the Empress herself - they are cousins of some form or another.
>   * Cherie's father is a native Kirkwall nobleman, who is less in tune with politic affairs than his Orlesian-born wife, since he can't smack them into submission with his great war hammer.
>   * She is the youngest out of five children total. Her other siblings are: Gabriel, Claude, Arthur, and Odette.
> 



	3. Steel My Heart Against the Temptations of the Wicked

Starkhaven was a beacon of beauty, surrounded by even further beauty on every side. The Minanter River coasted by, its crystal blue waters forming an impressive ring around the entirety of the city with dropping waterfalls that poured down from the mountains. The city sparkled like the finest diamond from a distance. Within the city walls, once they had crossed the long bridge to pass through the looming gate, the city looked even more flawless. The city was hustling and bustling, its people beautiful and carrying an air of refinement to them. Even the common merchants situated in the granite boulevards hocking their goods seemed significantly more civilized than those in Kirkwall.

The door to the carriage opened, allowing Cherie to look upon the city without the restriction of the carriage’s window panes limiting her view for the first time. She hardly registered the impressive group of guards awaiting her outside the carriage, far too taken with the way the city glittered under the late morning sun. It was only when a gloved hand appeared in front of her face that she felt herself reeled back into her own mind.

“Welcome to Starkhaven, my lady.” The guard greeted her with a stiff smile, his words uttered with the deep, Starkhaven accent, and followed by a deep bow. Once she was fully out of the carriage, he released her hand and gestured towards the path forward. The city was broken into several tiers, each one climbing higher than the last, and broken apart by walls and space. The broad main boulevard ahead seemed never ending, accented by statues and fountains, a long expanse of stairs and landings, until it seemed to climb high enough to no longer see beyond. At the top, she knew the royal palace sat, where the prince waited for her arrival.

“The stairs aren’t so kind to allow for smooth travel within the carriage, we’re afraid,” another guard added, approaching her slowly. “The remainder of the travel will be by horseback. Hooves navigate stairs easier than wheels. Intelligent design meant to deter attacks. It certainly does its job to make the trip by foot not an easy task as well.”

From behind, Cherie felt her mother adjusting her hair, sweeping away things from her dress. Her mother fussed over her like she was a small child again, but she made no motion to stop her mother from doing do. Cherie was far too nervous to bother asking her mother to stop.

The passersby seemed to be stopping at the arrival at the front gates, their attention burning into Cherie like fire. Though she was used to the scrutiny of others, this felt like it rivaled even the most critical of stares in Val Royeaux.

“You are a Faulkner, my darling, with the blood of an Orlesian lioness,” her mother reassured her. She swept around her daughter with grace that Cherie always wished she had. Her long fingers raised her chin up, blue eyes meeting blue. “Allow them to gaze upon their future princess while she holds her head high and proud.”

Before Cherie could object, her mother swept past her, in a blur of carefully selected colors – all rather dull in comparison to the royal blue and gold that her daughter wore. Lady Charlotte wished to make her daughter stand out, and stand out Cherie did. With an overwhelming amount of white comprising this city in its construction and the snow coating the ground, Lady Charlotte had wisely layered Cherie in a dress of royal blue silk, the dark color accented by the most delicate of gold trim. Minimal jewelry decorated her body, the only piece a simple golden circlet that rested against her forehead. She was almost certain her mother hadn’t known what simplicity was as a native Orlesian woman, but according to her, simplicity stood out among the over-refined. And sometimes that’s what was needed.

“Do you need help onto the horse, my lady?” The guard once more punctured her thoughts, gesturing to the carefully groomed white horse, which donned Starkhaven heraldry beneath polished white armor decorated with gold trim. 

Cherie nodded slowly, allowing the guard to assist her into the saddle of the horse. His grip was gentle, and he was exceptionally careful with where he placed his hands. Once she had settled into the saddle facing the side, the guard was courteous enough to bring the train of her dress to her hands.

The ride to the palace seemed to last forever, if only because at least a dozen guards from both families remained on foot as they traveled up the stairs. Another dozen on horseback escorted Cherie and her mother. If there was one thing for certain, the Prince of Starkhaven certainly didn’t allow security to be lacking when it came to his guests.

_His betrothed,_ she mentally corrected herself.

When they finally arrived near the top, the guards on horseback flanked them on the sides, allowing them a wide berth to dismount and continue to the palace. The same one that had offered her hand onto her horse suddenly snapped his head to the side, and then bowed his head in a salute, banging his fist against his shoulder as he backed up. Cherie opened her mouth to say something, but followed the direction that all the other guards seemed to be facing so abruptly.

Standing there was the Prince of Starkhaven himself, a living personification of the glittering city around them with his polished chainmail, and pristine white armor, all with golden inlay done by a master armor smith fit for a king – or a prince, more accurately. But what Cherie noticed was the way he wore a black, fur-lined jerkin beneath his armor, the divinely beautiful shell of his armor doing little to hide the lurking shadows of his more practical clothes. Her sister’s words echoed in her mind.

_“Just because a wolf pup is raised nursing from an ewe, it doesn’t mean he won’t return to instinct to devour her later…”_

“Your Highness, we were told you would be waiting inside the palace.” 

He answered with a silent shrug and a brief glance of his bright blue eyes. It was that moment that Cherie noticed he was moving closer, the sounds of his armor clanking with his movement. She suppressed a shudder as best she could when his eyes immediately moved to her, like a cold wind sweeping through the streets of Kirkwall. Except this cold wind was sweeping directly through _her_. For a moment, he simply stared at her with an unreadable expression on his handsome face, almost like he were waiting for her to say something.

Cherie broke first, quickly looking away from him. She almost swore that a smirk danced across his lips when she did, but when she looked back, there was only a polite, kind smile. 

“I was,” he replied briskly. “But it hardly feels personable to have my future wife escorted to me rather than greeting her like a true gentleman.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” 

The guard bowed his head again, backing up far enough to allow space for the prince to stand besides her horse. His smile remained on his lips, and she noted the way his armor was tailored for an archer. Did he still use his bow, or was the armor more for the sake of show? The people of Starkhaven were known for being haughty and valuing their refinement, and their appearances indicated much about them. Orlesians moved to hide their features, while people native from Starkhaven looked to accentuate them. His power, nobility, and strong features were emphasized in what he wore, right down to the beautifully crafted face of Andraste on his belt.

“If I may, my lady?” His hands extended towards her. She said nothing, and not able to look away from him, she nodded her head. 

With hands on her waist, he brought her down from the horse. When her feet finally touched the ground, she noticed that he was easily a head taller than her – a head and then some. He wasn’t unnaturally tall, but she was incredibly short, a trait she had inherited from her father’s side of the family. 

She dropped the train of her dress to the ground, not flinching when the horse behind her was guided away. Cherie kept her eyes on him, on the prince. He looked like neither wolf nor sheep. He just looked like any other man, if not easily the most attractive man she had ever seen. But her sister had warned her against men that looked like any other man, but weren’t. Those were the scary ones, she had said. 

When his hand took her left one, she didn’t resist. When he bowed his head down to brush his lips against her delicate knuckles, a light blush dusted itself across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. 

“I welcome you to Starkhaven, my lady. I am Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven, and it is a pleasure to meet you in the flesh.”

She swallowed. “The pleasure is all mine, Your Highness. I…I am Lady Cherie Faulkner.” 

She tried not to stumble over her words, but though they seemed untangled in her mind, they came past her lips in a stutter. The way he bore those eyes into her own made her insides jitter, and her stomach tied itself into knots. When he released her hand, she brought both hands to the skirt of her dress, smoothing mindlessly over the fabric, over and over again. 

“So I’ve heard,” he drawled with a smile, his deep voice and Starkhaven accent burning into her mind like a firebrand. “Maker, forgive me for saying so, lass, but your beauty was not accurately captured in words on paper.”

Another blush crossed her features, and she shyly smiled. “You’re…too kind, Your Highness.”

Sebastian smiled, his pearly white teeth reminiscent of a predator. Maybe she was imagining it, her mind tainted by her sister’s teasing and over the top warnings. Desperate to hide her face from his stare, she averted her gaze, tucking her hair behind her ears to try and distract her fidgeting hands.

“But do step inside. It’s beginning to get cold out.” He swept his hand in a brief gesture towards the marble palace that loomed ahead of them. It was no Val Royeaux, with its lattice windows and stone archways and silken banners. It was perhaps more beautiful, in Cherie’s opinion, though it was not one she was willing to share with her Orlesian mother, who had been born and raised in the large city.

Far too tangled in her own thoughts, Cherie hardly registered the conversation that her mother struck up with the prince, their words heard but not known. She merely trailed behind them, more intent on making sure she didn’t trip over the front of her flowing dress than following the conversation. For all the dance classes her mother had her take, which usually involved dresses far more ridiculous than the one she was in now, she certainly lacked all the grace and poise that she certainly should have retained. 

She might as well have been clomping around in shoes three sizes too big on an icy surface with all the care she took to watch her steps. 

After she seemed to snap back into reality again, she took the time to admire the palace courtyard. A granite path beneath her feet, the walkway splitting only to elegantly shift around a beautiful fountain that depicted Andraste with a bowl in her thin arms, her body donned in a dress that looked wind-whipped, with flowing hair that danced around her stone body. Fine lines of gold detail were set within the carved marble, giving her hair the glowing golden look their Prophet was most often depicted with, and her sorrowful eyes were expertly carved sapphires.

If they weren’t in the middle of winter, there would surely be water flowing from the bowl in her arms, gathering in the pool at her feet. Without the water obstructing the marble pool’s base, she could see the swirling patterns created by ceramic tiles and gemstones. Peering around, there were several other statues on the far ends of the courtyard, lining the sides that eventually guided the pathway to the palace entrance. 

When she noticed that she was falling behind, she quickly gathered up her skirts and headed after the prince and her mother and their guards. Her shoes clacked on the granite, a sound that only seemed to echo loudly through the marble courtyard. 

When she slipped inside, her breath caught in her throat. She was greeted by a broad ascending staircase, the marble steps covered with a woven, black and golden rug, with flecks of white fabric in the pattern. The walls were smooth, with swirling black and beige pillars that started and ended with carved filigree, and then danced into elegantly sweeping arches overhead. Alcoves that matched the pillars were inset within the pastel walls, each one featuring a stark white marble statue of men or women, with loose clothing that draped across their bodies in a way that made Cherie both blush and admire them.

There were too many details to take them all in at once – and this was just the foyer.

That was when she looked up, her eyes glittering in absolute fascination while her breath escaped her. A crystalline chandelier glittered like the night’s sky above them. Hundreds of crystals, with golden arms and chains, hung from above. It was elaborate, with craftsmanship that Cherie immediately recognized as Orlesian in nature – there was no way it wasn’t with how finely it was crafted. 

Beyond the chandelier, even the ceiling had been decorated beautifully, with careful carvings along the ceiling edges where the walls met the ceiling. The tiles were white, with golden inlay – this city was one that lived on marble and gold, it seemed. The swirling golden, symmetrical patterns of vines and flowers were broken apart only by painted tiles, each one depicting scenes from Andraste’s story and life. So taken with the beauty, she could see herself lying on the floor and staring up at the artwork for days, just admiring the tiles that someone had taken so much time to carefully paint even though they would sit overhead. 

“Cherie, darling,” her mother beckoned, holding her hand out. “Come, my dear.”

Through the archway to the right side of the foyer, she saw her mother standing there expectantly. Behind her, she caught a glimpse of Sebastian’s face – was he smirking or smiling? – before he continued onwards. Inhaling, Cherie gathered her dress skirt again and dashed towards her mother to follow faithfully behind. She assumed there would be plenty of time to admire the palace and all of its glory in the future.

Once more, she found herself completely ignorant to the words exchanged between Sebastian and her mother. Even the hallways were extravagant. Starkhaven was a place of concentrated craftsmanship, the entire city a work of art, and the palace its magnificent epicenter, where all the grandeur seemed to converge.

“My lady.”

Sebastian’s words made her shiver, feeling herself floating back into the present moment instead of her distracted admiration of the palace. He was holding a large wooden door open for her ahead, gesturing for her to step inside.

“Ah…apologies.” She bowed her head to make the apology more sincere. In reality, she was trying to hide her flushed cheeks from his searing stare.

As she strode into the room, she felt the ghost of his touch along the small of her back, guiding her forward. The sensation of his light touch faded, but only after it had drifted down. Or had it? Was she imagining that?

Peering over her shoulder at him, she noticed his stone-faced expression gave nothing away.

_Oh…Oh, Maker. Hear my cry..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a slow build, but time and passion pick up. Don't you worry about _that_ , my friends.
> 
> Rather than make everyone wait for every single chapter, day by day, I'll likely be posting multiple a day. Probably two or so. After this, the perspective will once again start shifting back and forth between Sebastian and Cherie.


	4. Now Her Hand Is Raised

Sebastian had been more than happy to allow his Seneschal and Cherie’s mother to handle the affair of organizing their wedding. It allowed him more time to focus on his duties to Starkhaven and the Free Marches. He could allot proper time to sending the sufficient aid to Kirkwall that was still needed desperately after all of the chaos. And it also allowed him more time to spend with his _betrothed_. 

Still such a strange thought. He was the last person he ever suspected would be where he is now. He had the throne, the city of Starkhaven in his palm to sway, and a future wife. He wasn’t sure what miffed him the most out of all of those things.

According to the paperwork he read briefly, the wedding would occur in roughly two weeks. He had to hide his smirk when he read the words, knowing for a fact that the only reason it was being rushed so much was because Lady Charlotte wanted to absolutely cement her daughter’s place as Sebastian’s wife and the Princess of Starkhaven. For once, those were politics that Sebastian didn’t mind. 

A few days ago, when he had first greeted her outside the palace, he had heard the howling in the back of his mind. It was a cry that urged him forward, prodded him to be bold enough to lay his hands upon her in a fashion that he hoped appeared gentlemanly, in spite of the intention that had initially pushed him. The silk dress that she wore had felt good against his calloused fingers, and through the layered material, he got a feel for how tiny her waist was, how tiny her whole body was. The fact that he could so easily clasp her hips in both of his hands and almost fully encircle her with his grip had made his muscles tense, and he had to smother the want to drag her body against his.

She lacked the extreme mountains and valleys that made up the curves of many women he had met, and she had a frame that was slight, narrow – one the Seneschal had brazenly – or stupidly – dared to remark about after their first meeting a few days prior. The arrow that had seemingly spontaneously exploded from the wall out of nowhere besides his head made the man bite his tongue; not a single concern was raised about his future wife’s hips and their ability to birth children, after that. Anyone that so much as sent a questioning glance over her frame was met with Sebastian’s harsh, cold gaze, one that dared them to give him only the smallest reason to send them to the abyss. 

The wolf beneath his docile exterior wished not only to claim, but to protect.

Before he had been silenced by threats of the prince’s precision with a bow, Lachlan had also expressed concern over the way Cherie dressed. Sebastian, however, liked the way she timidly hid underneath layers of loose dresses, not a single one form-fitting or tailored to allow room for false assumptions about her body. The way her eyes flicked down at her legs when she walked to make sure she didn’t trip when she thought no one was looking was endearing, and the way she looked completely enraptured by the beauty of his family’s home was something he could quickly find himself loving about her. Someone had to appreciate this palace in a way that he couldn’t, having grown to know the palace top to bottom, detail after detail; it might as well be someone who would also be living here. The fact that she looked absolutely so swept up in her admiration helped, too. He could watch her stare in awe at every inch of his – _their_ – home forever.

But with his quickly mounting adoration came a starved hunger. He found it growing distracting and tiresome, and he buried it beneath his duty to his people, and his faith to his Maker. Needless to say, he had been praying. _A lot._

He had successfully gotten away from his princely duties this evening, if only to clear his mind and get his exercise. He could only stare at ledgers and sign papers for so long before he felt like he was beginning to go blind, and while he would have loved nothing more than to bask in silence contemplation, he craved some form of movement in his stiff, lethargic limbs. So, he had retreated outside, to the grounds he used within the palace to keep his archery skills sharp. When he stepped outside through the doors the lead to the grounds while pulling his glove on and flexing his fingers, he stopped abruptly. It appeared he wasn’t the only one here. Typically, he expected to see guards waiting for him with the intention of protecting him – from what, he could never guess – or Seneschal Lachlan, likely to bore him with more nonsense that pertained to his duties and a thousand other things that begged for his immediate attention.

This was a sight that certainly begged for his attention, but in a much more satisfying way.

Cherie was inspecting one of the targets with interest, tilting her head to the side. An arrow sat poised in the center, imbedded completely in the middle of the target.

Without realizing it, Sebastian traced his lips with his tongue, admiring the way that her soft golden hair tumbled down her back, the sweeping edges caressing the slight curve of the small of her back. The way her thick dress hung around her body once more didn’t give much away about her figure, but Sebastian’s trained eye could see where her curves sat, minor though they were. He could still recall the way his hands easily encircled her waist, how small and fragile she felt in his hands. 

He would have loved nothing more than to hike up the skirts of her dress and bury himself deep inside of her. He wanted to taste her wine-colored lips, test his theory that they tasted just as sweet as the liquid with the same color. A burning desire to fill her completely ignited in the pit of his stomach, forcing his jaw to tighten, his teeth to clench, the muscles of his throat seizing up. Realizing what was happening, he closed his eyes, begged silent forgiveness.

_Maker grant me strength._

His eyes opened, and the hunger was kept at bay. For now.

“Good evening, lass,” he called. He caught her attention, making her turn a bit too sharply to face him across the yard. He hoped his smile smothered the desire he once again felt rising in his blood, creeping towards his mind. “I see you’ve been exploring. If you’ve an interest in the palace further, I’d be more than happy to give you a tour.”

The way her lips parted, the way the red touched her cheeks and the tip of her straight, round nose, it made her look so youthful. The expression she wore suggested an innocence to her nature, almost like she were just as naïve as a woman younger than her. Just by looking at her, it was evident enough. He wondered how much she knew in the ways of love, in the ways of primal, raw, carnal desire.

She inhaled, tucked more hair behind her ear. “It is a beautiful palace. I was…more curious of the targets. Your armor…I mean. When we first met, I figured your armor was suited for an…archer.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”

“My…brothers were trained with longbows,” she replied quickly, wrapping her arms around herself before approaching slowly. It was like a terrified halla approaching a hunter. It wasn’t too far from the truth. The revelation would have startled him if he wasn’t already painfully self-aware. “Their armor is similarly made.”

“To protect the arm holding the bow,” he said with a nod. “You say your brothers trained in the practice? What of you?”

Cherie laughed, an airy, shy sort of laugh that made Sebastian warm inside. He cursed at the beast that clawed at the edges of his mind, mentally kicked at it to push it away from allowing it to snap onto his consciousness. The last thing he needed was this war going on inside of him becoming known to her before they were even married. The things she did to him, all without realizing it. He wondered what would happen when those shackles finally broke inside of himself.

“I never…I couldn’t…”

Sebastian pulled the bow, his grandfather’s bow, from his shoulder. “Says who, lass?”

“I’m…not meant for weaponry. M-My sister Odette, perhaps, but I am…”

“Nonsense,” Sebastian cut her off. “Anything can be done with practice.”

For a brief moment, the look in her eyes was shock, but it was also something a bit deeper. It was a look that he recognized, one that silenced the darker thoughts in his mind for the moment. Fenris had often had that look in his eye when Sebastian reassured him of his worth, of their friendship, of the fact that he would be able to do whatever he put his heart to, and of the fact that the Maker loved even him – he who had deemed himself unworthy and undeserving of anything.

It was the look of someone who had always been told they couldn’t do something, and someone was telling them they could for the first time in their life. It made his heart sting in his chest that someone had dared to look into those large blue eyes of hers and had told her no, that she wasn’t meant for something, that she wasn’t worth enough, and that she never could.

Sebastian placed a hand on her back, guiding her. “Here, lass. I can give you a few pointers.”

She tensed beneath his touch, something that gave him admittedly a bit too much pride. He kept his hand in place, however, standing behind her to place his precious bow into her tiny hand. Her head turned, craned up to look at him, doubt in her wide eyes.

“But what if I—”

“If you’re afraid of breaking the bow, then I don’t know what you’ve been told about how these weapons work. Come on, it’ll be okay. I’ll help.” For once, his intentions weren’t laced with the desire to simply get close to her. He just wanted to reassure her that she wasn’t just a woman who was meant to be used as a delicate, political pawn in her mother’s Grand Game. She _could_ do anything she wanted to.

Cherie bit her bottom lip, finally closing her fingers around the bow. “I have…no idea what to do.”

“I’ll show you,” Sebastian reassured her. “Here…” 

He removed one of his gloves to slide it over her arm. It didn’t fit, even when he fastened the buckles to tighten it around her forearm. The whole time, she watched him a concerned intensity, like she wasn’t sure this was the best idea. Once he had tightened the leather bracer over her thin arm and was thoroughly satisfied that the limb would be protected from the bowstring, he released her arm.

Reaching around from behind her, he placed his left hand over hers, using his right to adjust her legs with gentle taps to direct them where to go. She was so much smaller than him, he had to lean down against her to get at her level, and he was so close, he could smell her. She smelled of Andraste’s Grace and roses, a delicate scent that seemed the exact opposite of most women he knew – Isabela always reeked of whiskey and wine and sex, Merrill smelled of wet grass and dirt, and Aveline smelled like sweat and smoke. The women in the Blooming Rose smelled like they always bathed in tubs of perfume, and those in the Chantry carried the aroma of stale incense.

But the floral aroma hanging around Cherie was sweet, pleasant.

His fingers reached behind him, plucking an arrow from his quiver. He once more reached around her leaning down a bit further to rest his lips near her ear. 

“You’re going to want to lift it like this, with your legs apart like you have them now,” he instructed quietly, gently. With his hands over hers, he lead the motions, but she followed. “It’s hard to draw the bow to its full draw length, but that’s why I’m here. To help. Now, lass, hold the arrow and the string like this…that’s it.”

She gnawed her bottom lip, constantly glancing at him for reassurance. The way her skin glowed red, it spurred something inside of him that he quickly stomped out. He wanted to help her right now, and he didn’t need to be thinking about the way her body curved against his. Sebastian resigned to the fact that he would have to isolate himself in his palace’s private oratory tonight.

“It’s too hard to pull…and it hurts my fingers…I-I can’t…”

“You _can_.” 

“But…”

Sebastian continued to guide her hands, taking more control of the pull, allowing her to hands to follow his like a puppet. She obeyed, and no longer objected. She squirmed her tiny fingers beneath his, which he was careful not to crush under his own. 

“You want the string right about here, lass. Always keep your eyes on the target. Keep your left arm turned like you have it now, it gives the string less chance of hitting your arm,” he paused to peer at her face, then looked forward again. “Then you let the arrow go.”

At the same time, the pair released the arrow, and though it wasn’t a bull’s-eye, it let out a satisfying wobbling noise the wood shaft of the arrow shook from the shock of the strike. 

For a minute, when he stood upright and retracted his arms from around her, he wasn’t sure how to categorize the look on her face. She looked at her fingers, and at first he thought she had cut herself on the string – it was fairly common, after all. But then she turned to face him, and her expression was one of absolute excitement, eyes glowing with happiness. He was once again reminded of the less dramatic expression in Fenris’s eyes when he had recognized his own self-worth, that he was capable of doing things that others had always told him he couldn’t do.

Cherie’s smile was infectious.

“See? Never believe people when they say you can’t do something until you try for yourself. You give yourself too little credit.”

“I…suppose so.” Cherie murmured while struggling to remove the leather bracer on her arm. 

Sebastian slung the bow over his shoulder before moving to pull it off for her. “If you want, lass, I can teach you.”

“I would like that, actually.” 

He replaced the bracer on his arm, flexing his fingers a bit to gauge how his muscles moved beneath it. When satisfied, he looked back down to Cherie, watching as she stared at the distant target with a perplexed look still plastered on her face. It was like she was entirely confused as to how she had managed something with help, like she had no faith in herself to be able to do something like that ever again. The thought of being able to teach her in the future brought a calm feeling of bliss over Sebastian, one he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

After admiring her beautiful face for another long moment, he reached out to move a stray strand of blonde from her face. She didn’t seem to mind, save for the flourishing blush that once more made a home on her cheeks. He was growing accustomed to seeing that red glow there already. Just how red she would get – and where – if he pressed his lips to hers right now. How improper would that be, truly?

Well, it would only be improper if someone found out. 

He got the feeling Cherie wasn’t discreet, though. He didn’t blame her, if only because he suspected that she had hardly ever held hands with someone…plus, she looked like she couldn’t lie for sod-all. Though he wouldn’t admit it, and he felt ashamed for thinking it, he was oddly proud and relieved that he would be the first and last one to kiss her and touch her. He likely wasn’t worthy, especially not when that very thought crossed his mind, being the heathen that he once was in his younger days.

_And still is._

He ignored the thought.

“Do you want to explore some of the palace now?”

Cherie seemed to be brought back into the present time. She blinked and then smiled. He easily clocked her nervous habit; she tended to brush her hair behind her ears. Like she was doing right now as he stared at her. It was like a fun game; how many times could he make her fidget by just looking at her?

“Yes. I would like that, Your Highness.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No need to use titles with me, Cherie. Just call me Sebastian.”

“O-Of course. Sebastian.”

The way she said his name, soft like a prayer, yet hushed like a whspered secret sin, it made a chill dance down his spine. The way she said his name, it captured both parts of himself that he desperately tried to keep apart from one another. But oh, oh she brought them together, with those parted lips and that sweet voice of hers. 

He wanted her to say his name over and over again, to hear her utter it with both gentle reverence and searing want.

Her gentle, hesitant touch was felt on his unarmored right arm. Lithe arms wrapped around his one, so loose that he hardly felt it.

_I’ll beg for forgiveness about my vulgar thoughts later._

For now, he simply led her back inside.

And he savored their conversation more than the thought of what her lips would taste like. She was tender and quiet, and more often content to listen to him than to speak. He was shocked by just how sarcastic she was capable of being, something she had said she picked up from her sister.

Her company was welcome, something he could see himself quickly growing accustomed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been adding more to these chapters as I re-proof them.
> 
> They are turning out significantly longer than they were before. That being said, I'm really hoping that everyone is enjoying this so far. As I said before, it's not my intention to have this story go longer anymore than 10 chapters - however, if people seem to really want more, I can either post additional stories about this cute couple or just extend the story. It all depends on the feedback!


	5. My Maker, Know My Heart

The two weeks had passed by in a blur. In that time, Sebastian never once seemed to shed his sheep’s clothing. He remained cloaked in wool, and while Cherie remained vigilant, she found herself beginning to enjoy his company. He wasn’t what she had expected, if she were being honest with herself, but perhaps that was Odette’s doing, burying those ideas in her mind before she had even met Sebastian.

He was shockingly wonderful. He had made a point of reassuring her that she could do whatever she set her mind to, a refreshing change from what she was used to. Of course, her mother and father had always told her as a noble she could do whatever she wished…so long as it allowed her to keep her dainty shell unscathed and unhardened – it was like they were Antivan, sometimes. Sebastian didn’t do that. And whenever she questioned whether or not she would be fit to be the new Princess of Starkhaven, he would silence her by brushing hair from her face and telling her she gave herself too little credit for everything.

He was right. She did.

The supposed wolf in sheep’s skin was gentle with her, his words accented by soft touches and soothing laughter. Every action had a purpose behind it, an intention to quell any fears or anxiety she may have otherwise had.

Sebastian made it easy to like him, to admire him, and to adore him. He spoke when she wanted to only listen, he listened when she wanted to speak, and he treated her with respect that came from viewing themselves as equals. 

Most importantly, the briefest of glimpses she caught made her realize that he didn’t view her like a child or just some noble who needed to be fussed over. He viewed her as a woman – a naïve woman, but a woman nonetheless.

It made the wedding significantly less stressful and less nerve-wracking. That didn’t mean the anxiety was entirely alleviated. The Revered Mother had prohibited them from speaking to or seeing one another prior to the ceremony. While her sister and mother spoke from experience about their own marriages, they spoke about it as duty, and it felt less personable. And don’t get her started on the _advice_ that they were trying to feed her. It was not helpful – it was horrifying. 

Cherie found herself childishly wishing to hear Sebastian’s voice in her ear, instructing her down the aisle and through the steps the same way he did with the bow. There was a yearning inside of her to feel his hands over hers with their delicate guidance.

She only felt relief when she reached the end of the cathedral, in all of its white, silver, and golden glory and splendor, with Sebastian waiting at the end. The stained glass windows depicting Andraste’s life cast down colored streaks of light, making the entire area appear almost mystical. 

She felt at ease when her land slipped into Sebastian’s, and the Revered Mother offered a kind smile to the both of them. Bearing in mind all of the eyes on her, she dared not look away from Sebastian, instead holding his gaze and smiling.

They made their promise, and it was over. Just like that.

Rather than kiss her on the lips like she had been told to expect, Sebastian kissed the corner of her mouth, careful to shield their faces from the crowd of people staring with hands resting on her cheeks. When her brow furrowed into a curious expression, he simply caught her stare and smiled with a glimmer of something else in those bright eyes of his.

“No one should have their first kiss scrutinized,” he murmured, leaning forward again to press a kiss to her temple. “Don’t worry, lass, there will be plenty of time later for something more…genuine.”

Try as she might, she couldn’t fend off the blush from her cheeks at his words.

There was to be something of a reception, a celebration, after she was officially crowned Princess of Starkhaven. She was almost happy that all of the attention was off of her again, happy to be sitting besides Sebastian on the dais in the palace’s grand hall. Guests mingled, and he had taken care to not only double the amount of guards, but quadruple it. The amount of trained eyes on the guests was overwhelming, but knowing that his family had been slaughtered, he wasn’t willing to let anyone take advantage of the chaos of a crowd to try and do the same with him.

“Relieved now that it’s over?” 

Cherie glanced over at Sebastian. “Very.”

“That makes two of us,” he admitted, raising his glass to his lips. “I always found peace in the Chantry, with just myself and the Maker sharing the space…it becomes a lot less quiet when there is an entire cathedral of people.”

“At least you got to wear your armor and feel comfortable in that regard. My mother thought a heavy, tiered dress with fur would seem more extravagant. I-It’s…not comfortable to wear _or_ walk in.”

Sebastian smiled crookedly at her. “I don’t know, I think I would look rather dashing in an elegant gown of white. It would go well with my skin tone, don’t you agree?”

“You’re…y-you’re more than welcome to wear it then. B-Because I don’t…”

Sebastian smirked. “So quick to have me get you out of that dress, are we, lass?”

“Th-That…Th-That isn’t what I said! St-Stop giving me that look! Mother didn’t give me much choice in this matter, so I’m stuck with it. It wasn’t an excuse to…to…”

“Are you also relieved she will not be able to dictate your choices for you anymore?” He cut her off as her sentence began to taper.

There was silence, a strange tugging sensation in her heart and mind. She hadn’t really thought about that before, hadn’t realized that her marriage would mean silencing the constant nagging and decision making her mother made for her. While terror lurked on the fringes of her mind at this revelation because it meant she’d have to learn how to make her own decisions, she also felt a certain kind of pleased peace with the fact. 

The peace outweighed the terror. Barely.

It was strange to consider that. Even worse now that she would have to learn how to do while assisting in matters that involved Starkhaven. There was certainly no pressure there.

“You will learn,” he reassured her. “I have little patience for politics, but the Maker put me on this path for a reason, just as He placed you on it. We’ll accomplish this task together.”

Cherie let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. The warmth of his hand enveloped hers, and she felt infinitely better about it all. Looking over the hall of people, she allowed her eyes to look for her family. Odette stood with her husband Fergus, who looked like he easily fit in, in spite of his grey polished armor and fur-lined cloak. Besides them, their children looked more interested in the table that had an overabundance of tarts and other sweets.

Her older twin brothers, Gabriel and Claude, stood with their own wives and children. Gabriel had married a woman from Kirkwall, solidifying his position as the child who would inherit the title and power of the family in Kirkwall. His wife Cecilia had done her part in giving Gabriel plenty of children – six, in fact. The prospect of having any more than one was a notion that terrified Cherie, and she found herself admiring her brother’s wife. 

Claude’s wife, an Orlesian woman by the name of Edith de Verley, was busy with the task of keeping their newborn daughter quiet, while keeping their oldest son close to her side. She was a woman with poise and grace, and never faltered in the face of conflict.

Finally, she spied Arthur, with his dusky-skinned, dark-haired beauty from Antiva – Lady Natalia Mateo, a merchant prince’s daughter who was the perfect definition of delicate and beautiful and exotic. In spite of having married when she was 20, roughly seven years before, they had only had a single child. Arthur remained a proud father and husband, in spite of this. However, the small swell of Natalia’s stomach told Cherie that they were expecting a second.

When she caught Odette’s eye, her sister flicked her eyes to Sebastian, then back to her. Her eyebrows wiggled, and then she smirked, which she promptly hid behind a glass of water. Fergus seemed to catch his wife in the act, nudging her with a flash of warning in his eyes. 

And then he also joined in the game of making faces at her.

“Your family knows no subtlety.” 

Sebastian’s voice made her all but leap from her skin. He had apparently caught the entire thing with his hawk eyes, and during that he had leaned close enough that when he spoke his breath brushed along her neck. When her eyes snapped from Sebastian and back to her sister and her husband, they were turned away, looking like cats who were caught eating a canary. 

Cherie blushed darkly. “They…do not.”

She could feel his smirk more than see it, because she refused to look over at him. Her sister tried to avoid looking at her, but Cherie knew Odette well enough to know that she was watching from the corner of her gaze. And the damned woman was smirking!

Sebastian’s lips pressed against her temple again. “Does it make you uncomfortable when they stare?” 

“Yes…well, no…it’s just why…”

“Why were they staring, then?” Sebastian asked the question gently, but that wasn’t what made Cherie feel every inch of her body start to smolder. He placed his finger on her cheek, and turned her to face him. Their faces were so close that Cherie could hardly breathe. She could still feel the faint press of his lips on the very corner of her mouth, a feigned kiss in the cathedral to seal their promises with. She wondered if he was about to kiss her again now. She tried to keep her eyes on his, but they flicked down to his lips, then back to the blue that bore into her.

Cherie paled. “O-Odette…just likes to tease me, is all.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Sebastian’s gaze focused on her, and then danced across the room towards where Odette stood. Cherie followed his eyes, turning her head ever so slightly to her sister. Odette was watching with an eyebrow raised high, a fiendish smirk on her lips. Within her eyes there was a dare, however, meant not for her, but for Sebastian.

“Tease, be protective of, or both?” 

Cherie looked back to Sebastian. “Both?” 

His lips pulled into another grin. Cherie shuddered this time, unable to hide the way the goose bumps surfaced to her fine white flesh. She tried to shield her arms by putting her hands into her lap, but it was too late. He had taken notice. One of his hands reached out to take one of hers within his grasp, bringing it to his lips to kiss each individual knuckle.

“She wishes to protect you from your husband, does she? Why, oh, why, would that be?”

Cherie fidgeted helplessly. “B-Because…uhm…”

“She told you, didn’t she?” His tone held the sound of knowing in it. 

Cherie went stiff as she felt his hand release hers, then rest on the small of her back, watched as the other reached for his crystal glass of fine, imported Antivan wine. She swallowed hard when he didn’t even look over at her, instead casting his gaze out upon the people in the hall, laughing and dancing and conversing and – most importantly – watching them.

“Told me…what?” Cherie asked, biting her bottom lip. She was never a good liar. 

“Lying is a sin, lass,” Sebastian laughed deeply, muffling the sound against his glass. His condemnation was far from serious. “I’ll take that as a yes, however. No need to be coy. Mostly because you are the absolute worst liar I have ever witnessed. You can say she knew my character ten years ago.”

“I…yes. She did. But I don’t know what’s true.” The admission made her feel guilty, but for a moment when she felt his hand rub a small circle along her back, she almost forgot what she had assumed. Then a wolfish smile formed on his lips, and she remembered again. Oh…oh, did she remember. His touch burned into her, marking her somewhere beneath her own flesh. It was a touch that she would never be able to get out of her mind.

“I am an open book, Princess,” he drawled. “Though let us wait until we’re alone before you begin asking questions that have answers which will most certainly make you blush.”

It sounded fair, but also horrifying. Her stomach tied itself into tight little knots, and she shuddered when his gaze lingered on her a bit longer than normal. She wondered if the look in his eyes was one of predatory nature or something else. It was a look that confused her, perplexed her, but most of all, made her want to find out who he really was. Underneath his skin, was he a deviant or a changed man? Was he loyal to his duty? Was he faithful and self-assured? Was he a beast as fiendish as her sister had depicted him?

And if he was…would any feelings harbored between them blossom into love? 

Sebastian was mystery in all except what she had already learned for herself. 

His touch slipped from her back, and just like that, Sebastian was back to his calm, collected demeanor, eyes carefully scrutinizing the people throughout the entire room. 

When it came time to eat, Cherie was relieved for the distraction. The hall fell into relative quiet, and for the first time, she could hear the music well enough to actually enjoy it. It was pleasant and sweet, the feel of the various songs light and airy. It was the perfect time for alcohol to start flowing through people’s glasses and lips, and laughter began to ring out louder through the hall. Cherie had to hide her smile when her siblings began to dance drunkenly with their spouses – with the exception of Odette and Fergus of course.

Fergus was the only one tipsy in that pairing. She could hear Odette barking about Fergus stomping on her new shoes with his two left feet. Without realizing it, Cherie rose to her own feet, looking to join in the festivities of her own wedding.

Cherie didn’t know how she found herself dancing in the mix so quickly, but when she looked down at her dance partner – Odette’s oldest son – she instantly remembered. She allowed the child to stand on her feet, spinning the child around in clumsy flourishes with her heavy dress. It didn’t matter – she was having fun. For once, she simply allowed herself to relax, ignored the weight of nobility on her shoulders, even if she couldn’t ignore the physical weight of the Starkhaven crown on her head. 

Not once did Sebastian rise from his place at the table across the hall. Instead, he watched from over the rim of his glass. His eyes remained on her, burning her from a distance, never once looking anywhere else. It made her stomach quiver, made her smile falter every time she turned and saw him through the bodies of people. She wasn’t sure why he never got up, why he never approached, but it was almost unnerving. 

“Kind of eerie the way he watches you like that, innit?”

She nearly jumped from her skin when her sister caught her hands to dance with her next. Odette’s grinning face and bright eyes were suddenly right before her. Though it hadn’t been the partner change she had been expecting, it was almost a welcome one, to finally be conversing with an adult.

“Says the one he caught staring at _us_ first! He knows you know! And now he knows that I know!” 

“Sweet sister, a word of advice: perhaps let your dear husband handle political negotiations. You’re truly awful in the way of words.” 

Cherie huffed. “Now he wants to _talk_ , Odette!”

“That _is_ what a husband and wife do, Cherie.” The smirk that danced on her lips was childish, and Cherie had to swallow the frustrated groan that wanted to pour past her lips. The next time they passed Fergus in their twirling, merry dance, she would pass her sister right back to her drunken husband.

“Andraste’s tears, that’s not what I meant! H-He wants to talk about who he was before. Y-You got me into this mess! I’m already married to him! Wh-What if he’s done _awful_ things? Why did you _have_ to tell me?” 

Odette feigned offense. “Maker damn me for trying to be a lovely older sister and warn you. But, tell me: will this conversation be had before or after he absolutely ravishes you?”

“Odette…” 

“During?”

“ _Odette!_ ” 

“Fine, fine! Maker’s balls, Cherie. So touchy. He seems a good man, as far as I can tell. If he’s not, he’s bloody damn good at hiding it. Just be honest with him, ask him what you want to truly know. He seems willing enough to share the information with you.” Odette tilted her head to the side, a few loose curls falling over her shoulder from the movement.

Cherie sighed. “B-But I’m…I’m so incredibly nervous. I’ve never…”

“Yes, yes. You’re an adorable, little virgin.”

“W-Well, yes. B-But, what I-I-I meant was...”

“Darling, I know what you meant. I was teasing,” her sister mumbled with a roll of her green eyes. “If you’re truly nervous, then perhaps you should have a bit of liquid courage, my dear. If you don’t like the harsh stuff, perhaps try some sweet liqueurs. They have this _divine_ liqueur with a _naughty_ little surprise at the bottom of the bottle. It’s even got a naughty name, too.”

Their dance ended rather abruptly, with Odette twirling away from her in a little flourish. Meanwhile, she had parted from her sister far less elegantly, her skirts making her move long after her legs had wished for her to stop motion. Her hand flew to the tiara on her head, as if to make sure that it was still in place atop her tiny head, and not the least bit skewed. In spite of herself, a smile curled at the edges of her lips as Odette did an absolutely ridiculous curtsey. 

She faithfully trailed behind her older sister then, noticing how people cleared a path for her. Before she could voice her observations to her sister, she found a crystal glass shoved into her tiny hands. Peering inside, she first noticed the absolutely lovely color within; a color that reminded her of rose gold jewelry, watered down by the chips of ice bobbing around. It smelled heavenly and sweet, like a chilled fruity juice that she often sought out on blistering hot days during the summer months. It didn’t take much encouraging on her sister’s behalf to get her to take a hesitant sip.

“Oh. Th-That’s…very nice.” Cherie closed her eyes and let out a sigh, unaware of how thirsty she had been before she felt the liquid sliding down her throat.

“Naturally, this would be mixed with something else, like a juice or something, but your husband spared no expense on the drink. This is fine enough to drink on its own. It’s rather refreshing isn’t it?” Odette cradled water in her hands now, and Cherie let her eyes float down to her sister’s slightly protruding stomach, a swell that held life within. Suddenly, she felt even more thirsty, more nervous – were the two going hand-in-hand? 

“The bloody Prince of Starkhaven,” a voice called out to them, making Cherie and Odette turn to address it. “How many strings did Mother pull to make this arrangement?”

“You know, brother, that is precisely what I said. Shockingly, Claude, this was not one of Mother’s grand schemes,” Odette snort in laughter. “In fact, our dear little sister managed to capture the prince’s attention all on her own. Whether by random happenstance or purposefully, it doesn’t quite matter.”

Claude chuckled, their older brother the perfect depiction of nobility in his fine armor and flowing golden cloak. “No, perhaps it doesn’t.”

“He seems quite taken with her, actually.” This voice belonged to the older of the twins, Gabriel.

“Lookit this. Managed to pry yourself from between your wife’s legs long enough to spend time with family, have you?” Claude smirked cheekily at his mirror image.

“Don’t get snarky with me simply because my wife and I have been successfully in our marital bed.”

Odette snort into her glass. “Do you ever let her _leave_ your bed, brother?”

Gabriel smirked, but didn’t answer.

“Y-Yes, hello, c-can we please…no longer speak of this?” Cherie had felt her face growing darker and darker during the conversation her siblings were having regarding their sex lives. Of all the things she wished to not hear about now or ever, it was definitely this. She had enough of the tales her mother had regaled her with about the marital bed. 

_Maker, do not make me hear one more vulgar story about the things my family is far too open to share with one another._

“Apologies, Princess Cherie,” Claude said flippantly. “We do so graciously apologize for making you uncomfortable.”

And finally, the last sibling approached them; he was the tallest, broadest, and the only one with brown hair like their father. “Careful, Claude. Cherie now has an entire army at her command.”

“At her _husband’s_ command, Arthur.” Claude corrected him.

Her brothers began to bicker before they all melted back into comfortable conversation. It had been so long since all five of them had been together in the same place. When had they last been able to converse so freely without the worries of the world’s chaotic events crushing them with constant concern? It was pleasant, to say the least, and eased Cherie’s anxiety about what may happen later in the evening. 

By the time she had cleared through her third glass of the precious liqueur, and shared an uncharacteristically boisterous laugh with her sister about the peach carving at the base of the bottle while their brothers stared on in confusion, she had entirely forgotten about Sebastian’s promise to share whatever she wanted to know. The heat of mild intoxication wound its way into her mind, and the pleasant, floating haze of the alcohol slowed the world down to a satisfying crawl. 

It was only when her eyes met Sebastian’s from across the grand hall that she recalled his words. She recalled his breath against her ear and the way he touched her more, however, tenfold. His gaze, smoldering and intent, found her through the crowd, latched onto her, drew her away from her conversation with her siblings.

He stood with several people, crystal glass in hand, but he wasn’t paying them any mind. The sounds of the room seemed to dim, muffled, as if they were underwater. Cherie only saw Sebastian, as if someone had slipped blinders onto her head. When his lips quirked into a smirk, she parted her lips, then bit down, unable to look away from him. Something inside of her was burning hot, searing her insides until they melted, pooling in the pit of her stomach.

And _further_ down.

Her face must have turned red, because his grin widened, and he flicked his gaze away and lifted his glass to his lips. Even that sight made her heart throb curiously in her chest.

“…Cherie!”

Her head snapped to the side, vision clearing and opening to see the faces of her siblings again, the muffling effect on their voices fading. She smiled as coolly as she could, while inside of her raged a storm of fire that she had no idea how to stop. It left her tingling and hot, an untamable fire that was determined to burn its way through every part of her body.

The remainder of the time, she felt Sebastian’s eyes burning into her, yet he still never approached. 

But she supposed that didn’t matter. Because soon, they would have plenty to discuss. And plenty of time to be close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I wrote in some additional stuff into this chapter, and it somehow doubled in length from where it had been originally. Excuse any spelling or grammatical errors, as always.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed the brief appearance of the siblings, which I have come to develop a bit too much and love a little too dearly. :'D Woops. 
> 
> Let me know how you're all enjoying it so far - or lurk, if you wish to lurk! :)


	6. There Is But One Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get ready...

He had seen that look before. 

He had seen brother and sisters at the Chantry give him that look; other nobles had often scrutinized him from a distance when they thought he wasn’t looking. The look of knowing on Odette’s face from across the room was not one Sebastian could ever mistake for anything else. He fought to keep the glare from his face, often having to avert his gaze elsewhere or hiding behind his glass of wine. Eventually, the night called for stronger drink on his tongue after feeling the constant burn of that woman’s judgmental gaze upon him.

When he felt the familiar burn of whiskey slithering down his throat, he felt only minor relief. He chose to pace himself, not daring to bury his senses with a haze of alcohol-induced impulses. He would remain a gentleman, the thought of terrifying of his new wife something that didn’t sit well with him. If you had told him over ten years ago that he would not try to coerce his wife into bed right after their marriage, he likely would have thrown his head back and laughed. He would have called that person a prude, cackled some more, and then went to find someone to remind himself that his fragile masculinity was not at risk in the moment.

When the night began to settle, and it came time to end the event, he was relieved. He enjoyed watching the merriment, and even participating in it, but he yearned to have a moment alone with Cherie. He had taken to teasing her throughout the entire night, the beast he chained inside let loose long enough so that he could prowl through the crowd, but never approach. Each and every time he caught her eyes, he could see the way the red crept down her neck and over her chest – and then he would dip away and do it all over again. To say he didn’t savor the looks she was giving him would be a lie.

Yet at the same time, he felt desperate to finally have her alone to answer her questions that she may have about his past, which her sister so kindly revealed to her. Exactly what she had revealed to her, he hadn’t a clue, but he would soon find out.

The guards escorted out the guests, goodbyes were had, and silence settled upon the palace. Sebastian threw back the rest of the amber liquid – for courage, he told himself – and strode briskly to close the distance between himself and Cherie. His young wife had apparently sampled some of the sweet-scented liqueurs, and though they weren’t known for being strong, he could still see the sparkle of inebriation lingering in her big blue eyes as she smiled broadly at him. It was a smile that made his pulse quicken and his heart stop, an impossible feat that made him question if she were a blood mage to hold so much control and power over him already. But when she giggled behind her hand, and explained that Odette had her try some of the precious liqueurs that were offered, he raised an eyebrow.

Her sister had a way of trying his patience, and they hadn’t even exchanged more than five words with one another. He was convinced that Odette was the most dangerous blend of nations – a woman with Orlesian roots who had the vulgar mind of a Ferelden tavern wench, and the macabre sense of humor that those from Kirkwall seemed to possess. Actually, Odette seemed to enjoy stirring the metaphorical shit pot just as much as Isabela, if only because she knew it would rile up Sebastian. 

Maker, he prayed those two never somehow spontaneously met or the entirety of Thedas would burn.

“What did she exactly have you drink?” Whatever it was, it smelled almost like peaches. He drew his lips into a tight thin line. He had a feeling he knew what it was.

Cherie gratefully accepted his help through the palace. The guards dared not so much as look at them, only giving stiff salutes and empty greetings. Sebastian wondered if they thought not to follow because they believed he and Cherie would be…consummating their marriage. In most cases, surely, but as he looked down at Cherie’s furrowed brow as she tried to think, he shook his head.

“It was…an Orlesian liqueur. Carnival? Kernel?”

Sebastian sighed. “Ah. Carnal.”

“That one.”

Figures that Odette would give her sister _that_ drink after issuing a dare to Sebastian all night long, daring him to do something to her sister, silently threatening him with that strong glare of hers. All while ushering around her two sons and leading herself through the crowd of people with her swelling stomach first. Of course she would give her the drink that was said to enhance sensations. Maybe she _was_ more Orlesian than anything. It seemed this family had a little bit of everything in them, and most of it earned them the advantage of their respective roots. 

Or, again, she just _really_ liked to stir that pot. A lot.

“Right through here.” Sebastian said quietly, pushing open his – their – bed chamber door. There were guards on the far end of the halls, but none just outside his door like usual. His lips pulled into a tight line again as he stepped inside after Cherie, watching as she stood in a complete daze while looking around the room.

The room that he would now be sharing with his wife – still felt so strange to think he had a wife now – was elaborately decorated, but not overwhelmingly so. The ceiling in this room wasn’t vaulted nor as high as those in the hallways or other rooms. The marble floor was covered with thick, plush furs to reduce the cold chill from sinking through the soles of one’s feet. On the far right side of the room, a curtained window was tucked between two L-shaped bookshelves that occupied the corners, with lounge chairs and a desk. On the opposite side of the room, a lit hearth sat on one side of the wall, while an archway leading into a wash room took up the other half. The room itself was large, with plenty of various other pieces of furniture carefully placed about. Paintings and carvings and other decorations made the environment less intimidating than the rest of the palace, making it feel more like home, more comfortable.

Cherie was eyeing the massive four poster bed, with its thick, dark blankets, and purple heartwood frame. White silks trimmed with gold filigree hung from around the top, forming a transparent barrier from outside the bed and within. She wobbled a moment, reaching out one tiny hand to brace herself against him while she struggled to remove one of her dainty, pretty little shoes. 

Sebastian cast a glance over his shoulder, ensuring that their bedroom door was not only closed, but bolted shut. He didn’t need anyone disturbing them and giving Cherie a heart attack in the process. If it was important, they could knock. And if it was _really_ important, than they could just simply knock harder.

“Careful,” he warned, taking her hand and guiding her towards the edge of the bed. For a brief moment, she looked panicked, until he crouched down to remove her shoes from her feet. “Such tiny feet, lass. No wonder you have trouble balancing.”

“I’m also…q-quite…not sober.”

Her honesty made him let out a loud laugh. “Your feet surely don’t help. Your grace is…adorably questionable, I have noticed.”

Cherie watched him intently, followed his every move. “That’s a nice way of saying I’m… _not_ graceful. B-But…I didn’t…fall over during the ceremony of promises, though.”

“Aye, that’s the start, lass,” he replied. He stood up, reaching out to take the thin crown from her head. Were it not a family heirloom, he would have flung it carelessly over one shoulder, and let his immediately follow. Instead, he set them both on the desk by the window, and returned back to her. “There should be clothing waiting for you in the washing room through there. I won’t disturb you while you get ready for bed. Should you need assistance, you can ask.”

She looked relieved, getting up from the bed – which he now noticed with a smirk was almost too tall for her – and slipped slowly into the attached room. He took this time of privacy to remove his own garb, armor included, in favor of loose trousers and nothing else. It felt good to be rid of all the thick layers and the armor.

He settled onto the edge of the bed, waiting patiently for Cherie to emerge from the conjoined room. And waited. When he feared she had fallen over and was likely dozing on the floor, she finally stepped into the bedroom. Through the dim light, he could see that was she wearing a simple stark white nightgown. It was a bit too long for her, but the way the skirt airily shifted around her legs when she walked, it looked enchanting. The loose sleeves went past her knuckles, and she adjusted them slightly as she moved closer. The V-shaped neckline ended in a row of several silver buttons, round and small. Her long hair, which was always flawlessly straight and maintained, was tied into a ponytail. 

He tried not to think about how badly he wanted to tangle his fingers through that perfect hair and pull.

Without thinking, he held out a hand to her, which she took. He caught a glimpse of trepidation in her eyes, like she expected him to lead her right into a den of hungry wolves.

Instead, he guided her to sit beside him, making no further move to touch her other than to hold her hands.

_I will not take her when she is like this. She looks ready to be tucked into bed and nothing further._

“There’s no rush to consummate the marriage, lass,” he whispered, ignoring the way the beast inside of him howled in protest and angered betrayal. “Besides, I believe we had some things to discuss?”

He watched her fidget beneath his gaze, allowed his eyes to appreciate the way her fingers toyed with the ring that now sat prettily on her finger, one that matched his. Yellow gold with white gold inlay in the shape of twisting knots matched on their fingers, though hers was accented with a flawlessly cut emerald, one similar to the crown he donned for formality’s sake.

“Can you…start from the beginning?” Her eyes were gentle, kind, no longer harboring any kind of fear of him or what he might try to do. Cherie was easily scared, not too self-assured, and lacking any kind of confidence when she shouldn’t be. She was like a skittish halla. He doubted that lying would make anything better between them, especially when she already knew something due to her sister.

And so, Sebastian did. He started from how he was a disgrace to his family through his mannerisms and filthy habits, how his parents cast him aside so that he could no longer embarrass their family. Sold to the Chantry less out of good faith and more out of a political scheme, more so that his vows would force him to never interfere with the claim that his brothers had to the throne. He explained how he was never meant to have the throne, never truly wanted it, but how he had always loved the idea of it and the power it meant having when he had been younger and stupider.

He told her, with difficulty, how Grand Cleric Elthina had meant to set him free – how she _had_ set him free – and helped him escape right down to the money and the manner of sneaking out. He tried to fight the bitterness that rose inside of him at her death, and when his voice rose, her hands reached out and touched his, delivering a gentle squeeze that brought him down from the heights of his rage. The wound felt fresh, even though it had happened years ago. 

After experiencing his freedom and losing interest in the nights of passion that were ultimately meaningless, he floated through life without purpose. And then he returned to the Chantry on his own accord, through the front door, just as Elthina had wished of him, had believed all people should enter the faith. His time with the Chantry was bliss – peaceful, contemplative bliss. When his family perished, he had asked for the Maker to guide him, to let him know if this was the right path. 

In the end, taking his family’s throne back would do more good than serving in the Chantry as a brother.

He admitted he was bewildered for so long at the paths the Maker shifted him on. He had never wanted to go to the Chantry, yet there he found peace. He had never wanted the throne, yet here he sat upon it. And then he quietly explained how he was okay with it all, because he allowed the Maker to guide him here, and so there must have always been a reason for it all.

She remained silent throughout the entire thing. He couldn’t tell how long it took to tell his story from start to finish. Hours must have gone by. She remained enthralled nonetheless.

He waited a minute. “There you have it, lass.”

He couldn’t read her expression, but she had stopped fidgeting partway through the story. Now, she simply had a thoughtful look on her face, something in her eyes that not even Sebastian could place. Perhaps the alcohol was finally sinking into her system – or maybe the more devious effects of that _particular_ alcohol were finally beginning to fade.

“Oh.” She sighed heavily, seeming to deflate in what he could only identify as relief. “I see…”

Sebastian grinned crookedly. “Does that answer all of your secrets about my dirty past?”

She hesitated. “Yes?”

“You don’t seem so sure, lass.” Sebastian squeezed her hand.

“Uhm…no, it does,” she said quietly, eyes shifting away from him. “Mostly. It just…”

He leaned forward. “Makes you nervous?”

Even through the dying light in their bedroom, he could see the way her cheeks turned a deep shade of crimson. There was a question on her lips that she was holding back, and the realization made him tip his head to one side to get a better look at her face. She remained silent, however, though her sudden fidgeting and the way she glanced at his lips gave it away.

“Do _I_ make you nervous?” He raised an eyebrow at her, voice low.

“I don’t know how to answer that…”

“Honestly?”

“Then, a little. I’m…I haven’t…” She stumbled over her words, shifting in bed to face him more directly before quickly looking away, hands yanked away to run over her ponytail. Even tied up, it fell all the way down her back.

_Oh, Maker. Definitely a virgin. Definitely untouched. But still drunk. Do not give her reason to question your morals by doing such a stupid thing, Sebastian._

Sebastian caught her face in his hand. “It’s fine, Cherie. If you believe that bothers me, then I’m sorry for giving you that impression. But it’s beginning to get late. Perhaps we should sleep.” There would be no sex this night, not when she looked like this. The wolf growled, and he closed his eyes a moment to give the snarling, snapping beast a good mental kick to fend it off. His mind went quiet.

There was silence as he helped her sleepy, wobbly form navigate through the silk canopy. He made sure she was nestled into her side of the large bed before slipping into his own. There was an abundance of space between them, and as they lay in bed ready for sleep to come, the firelight began to die out. The only sound was their breathing, and the soft crackling of the flames dying in the hearth.

Then, he felt the softest touch of fingertips against his bare chest beneath the blankets. 

_Andraste preserve me, this woman will be the bloody end of me._

He cracked an eye open to peer at her though the dark. “Are you alright?”

Silence.

And then, “You said you would…ah…”

_A kiss I can do._

Sebastian couldn’t fight the wolfish smirk from his lips this time, turning over in bed to peer at her shadowed face. He knew what she was referring to now. He wouldn’t take advantage of her because she clearly wasn’t ready and was in no state to present any kind of rational consent. Even if she were to press the issue of sex, which he knew she wouldn’t, he would refuse. No matter how the sharp, jagged teeth of his desire dug into him, he would refuse.

“Kiss you more genuinely when people weren’t looking?” Sebastian propped himself up on his elbow. “Is that what you wish for?”

“Yes…”

The beast stirred, and he could feel the familiar tearing of claws into his senses, ripping at his flesh from the inside. He burned, yearned to touch her, to crash their lips together. The prince wanted to claim her, to leave marks behind on her body in the wake of his starving passion. He would have loved nothing more than to pin her narrow frame down between his body and the mattress and get lost inside of her. He wanted to make her scream his name, beg for him, and cry out for the Maker because of him. 

“Sebastian?” 

He blinked, realizing he hadn’t answered her. “I’m more than happy to oblige.” 

For now, he would endure his internal torment silently. Treat her delicately, love her gingerly, caress her sweetly, until the time came when she was ready.

He shifted on the bed until he loomed above her, bringing his face down to hers. The familiarity of the action itself was like muscle memory, but her sweet smell and the softness of her skin felt foreign. He brought his lips down to hers, brushing them against hers to test the waters. No, this was not standard, the fire this single kiss ignited in his chest. He had always been careful not to kiss a whore – it felt strangely sacrilegious, even for him, ironically enough – but there had been times passion had taken him. But this was none of those things. This felt just as intimate. He could taste the Carnal liqueur on her lips, and it came with a familiar burn of passion intensified.

When their lips met fully, he lingered for a moment, leaning back to gauge her reaction. Then he found encouragement in the form of her thin fingers touching his shoulders, daring to toy with the ends of his loose, auburn hair. She lit another fire inside of him, and he leaned back down again, with more fervor, with more hunger. She inhaled sharply, tilting her head with his, following his gentle, silent lead. He didn’t dare deepen the kiss, lest she die on the bed beneath him, but when they finally pulled back again, he gave her a soft nip on the bottom lip. 

“…Oh.”

_Still clearly no wordsmith._

He couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Eloquently put, lass. Come on…let’s go to bed.”

She whined quietly from his words, muttering something about getting tired of hearing about how poor of a speaker she was. The irony was evident, for when she complained, her words slurred and stuttered from the combination of her timid nature, exhaustion, and inebriated state.

“You can complain more in the morning. Sleep, love.” He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead before dropping onto his side of the bed.

A soft hum came past her lips, and he was shocked that when he moved away from her to his side of the bed, she followed. It was sweet and not at all invasive. He welcomed the way her body fit against his, so small and fragile, with the smell of Andraste’s Grace and roses invading his senses. He had always asked the Maker for His guidance in his life, and he found it almost a little too coincidental that of all the papers to not be reduced to ash in his moment of defiant fury, it had been hers.

_I know this is Your doing. And I thank You._

As he closed his eyes, he saw not the way he could be ravaging her. He saw not the lustful temptations that his dreams would typically present him. Instead, he saw the look in her eyes when he took his time explaining his past.

It was a look that was without judgment. It was a look that was sincere and interested – not in his title or his wealth or his bloodline. It was a look that told him she was interested in _him,_ in spite of his flaws, in spite of his deviant past – in spite of everything. 

It was that look that slowed the world down, that put his mind at rest. And he slept well for the first time in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...to hate me. Haha.
> 
> Instead, I hope you enjoyed that bit of fluff. The last couple of chapters will be wonderful, I promise. :)


	7. From These Emerald Waters

Days followed, passing like any other, until the few days bled into weeks – three to be exact. The excitement around their marriage had yet to fade from people’s lips in Starkhaven, and she was still hopelessly trying to get used to her new title. For every formal function or meeting, she was introduced by the entire array of her names, the long string not as impressive – or intimidating – as a Pentaghast family member’s series of names, but usually enough to exhaust the poor crier who had to announce her.

However, the Princess Cherie part would take some getting used to.

Throughout the past three weeks, however, she was most impressed with how Sebastian easily handled the matter of their marriage when it came into question, whether by nobility or his Seneschal. He deflected personal questions with grace or a glare, either method always enough to silence people. He placed no pressure on her when she faltered, and encouraged her to take her time with learning things correctly. In his eyes, it was better to learn things correctly and slowly the first time, rather than learn haphazardly and regret it later. Politics and negotiations and appearances weren’t something you could read in a book, but had to slowly learn through experience. It was a point of view that her husband had that she appreciated. 

The husband part would also take some getting used to.

She still understood she had a duty to uphold to her family and to Sebastian when it came to their marital bed. He had been patient with her, kind, his advances ceasing at kisses. She had quickly grown accustomed to the way he laid his lips upon her every morning and every night, peppering her with affection that she had never known in her life. She had at first shied away from the affection, unsure how to process the way it made her feel inside. But she soon found herself sinking into the kisses, initiating them with a shy smile and then a quickly averted gaze. Sebastian was always much more forward, always willing to take the lead. He stole kisses from her while he continued to teach her how to shoot arrows, rewarding her successful shots with tender touches and gentle whispers and the softest of kisses. 

Today, she had practiced alone, her husband too entangled in the business of sending aid to Kirkwall to help rebuild. It would be a long and arduous process, but the city was already seeing the benefits from Starkhaven’s assistance. It made her swell with pride that he worked so tirelessly to see that a city not his own would once again thrive just as much as before. Kirkwall was no grandiose place, but to return to it years ago to find that it had been destroyed and ravaged by uprisings made her heart sting in her chest. It was her home.

This was her home, now, though.

She winced as reality bit – literally – into her, realizing that her fingers began to bleed from loosing arrow after arrow at the target, and the sun was beginning to fall from the sky. With the light fading, she finally retired inside. Sebastian had still not returned from his business, and so Cherie took this time for herself. With clumsy fingers and poor coordination, she attempted to wrap her fingers in bandages. It wasn’t the prettiest thing she had seen, to be sure, but it would suffice. Wounds sealed and tended to, she then swapped her fine trousers and loose tunic for a nightgown and slipped into bed. Her eyes bore into the door as she sat there stiffly, propped upright against the mountain of pillows that occupied the head of their bed. 

The lump in her throat made it difficult to breathe, so she gulped it down before slowly reaching for her bedside drawer. The book her sister had insisted on buying for her sat within, the spine pristine from the mere fact that she hadn’t even opened the cover. 

_Swords and Shields._

She made a face at the cover as she plucked the book up and set it into her lap. For a while, she had no words for the artwork on the front of the book. It was clear just what kind of book this was by looking at it. She noted how the burly man on the cover suspiciously reminded her of a certain infamous author in Kirkwall. Who was also the author of this book. It made her cringe.

Cherie kept glancing at the door, expecting to find that her husband would burst in out of nowhere. She wouldn’t be able to hide her shock if that happened, and there would be no smooth method of discarding the book. Furthermore, she didn’t exactly want him getting the wrong idea about her. This had been her sister’s idea, her sister’s _insistence_ , really, and she wasn’t entirely sure what Odette had hoped to accomplish besides thoroughly embarrassing her. Her older sister seemed to be caught in an endless loop of wishing to protect Cherie, and then immediately following it up by proclaiming she was a small virgin at the mercy of her wolfish, predatory husband.

With a sigh, she began to read, reminding herself to send a strongly worded letter to Odette about Sebastian’s true character – the one that _didn’t_ need to be rutting something in order to smile and gain pleasure from a situation. Like how he nearly keeled over laughing when he explained the liqueur Odette had given her was meant to “enhance sensations”. And in spite of what Odette would have had her believe, he certainly did not howl into the moon while stalking her like a wounded halla, he did not go into a frenzy at the scent of blood, and he did not turn into a sex hungry maniac at the sight of her bare flesh or the taste of her lips.

Which could _not_ be said about the characters in this book. 

She didn’t need a mirror to know that her face had contorted into something far beyond disgust. Cherie was sure that maybe this was someone’s cup of tea, but it certainly wasn’t hers. She wouldn’t condemn anyone for liking it, most certainly, but she would definitely want to know what they found so enthralling about it. Smutty didn’t even begin to cover the things that she read in this book.

After getting a couple dozen pages in – and finding she was already _thoroughly_ tired of the words member and rod – she rolled out of bed with the book in hand. She apologized briefly to her sister, even though she wasn’t anywhere that she would be able to hear, and strode up to the fireplace. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed the book into the dying flames, which quickly sputtered to life to devour the smutty words.

At least the pages made something in this room hot with desire. 

“If your manner of dealing with things that upset you is to toss them into the hearth, remind me to never provoke you.”

Sebastian’s voice made her heart jolt straight into her throat, and she gasped loudly as she practically choked on her own breath, turned around a little too quickly. He wore that smirk of his, the one that she kept seeing on their wedding night during the celebration that followed the ceremony. His eyes hinted at nothing but mischief as they flicked over her shoulder to gaze into the fire.

Cherie placed a hand on her chest to still her pounding heart. “I…I really doubt you could provoke me to such a point, Sebastian.” She was glad to have mostly found her voice around him, even if her words were quiet and soft.

“You’d be surprised, lass,” Sebastian chuckled. After stepping away from her, he began to remove his fur-lined, black jerkin, the one he wore beneath his armor. With an air of casualty about him, he tossed it haphazardly onto a chair. He reached over his head, hands catching the back of his linen shirt to pull it off his body. His back was muscled, most of the bulk lingering in his shoulders, which she had no doubt was from archery. She suppressed a shudder and averted her gaze, reminding herself not to stare.

_Now who’s the wolf in sheep’s skin?_

“I don’t think so,” she mumbled, more to herself than him. “Remind me to…to write a letter to my sister tomorrow. I need to criticize her taste in literature.”

Sebastian plopped onto the edge of the bed, and then beckoned to her with his hands. “It couldn’t have been that bad of a book, love. I think you might be overreacting a wee bit.”

Cherie felt the blood rushing to her head, both from the thought of the book and from the way that he pulled her body between his legs when she placed her hands in his. The touch itself was innocent, his fingers delicately interlacing with hers before stopping. Another flush – this time one of shame – fell upon her face as he made a soft “tsk” sound at the sight of her poorly wrapped fingers.

“I’m not.”

“Maker’s breath, woman. You need to learn the bow in moderation, otherwise this happens to your pretty little fingers,” he said with a sigh, standing from the bed to guide her into the washing room. “And so certain, are we? C’mon then, what was the book?”

Cherie allowed him to plop her onto one of the marble benches near a basin of water. It had long since gone cold, but Sebastian was already stepping from the room to remedy that. When he returned, he came back with a pot of water, likely having been set near the fireplace for just this occasion. While the scalding hot water chilled in the open, stone basin, he crouched in front of her on his knees, careful to peel away the bandages on her damaged fingers.

“It was just…a book with words.”

“Oh, really? I’ve never heard of a book with _words_ in it!”

Cherie pursed her lips, looking away from him. “It was…one of _those_ books.”

“Your way with words is truly riveting, Cherie.”

For a moment, she said nothing, and he didn’t press. Instead, he continued to unravel the bandages on her fingers until they were both greeted by the sight of congealed blood and raw flesh. In the bends of her knuckles, particularly where the bowstring sat in her fingers, strips of messily severed skin bled. The feel of the air hitting her damaged flesh made her inhale sharply, closing her eyes tightly. Sebastian’s words of comfort were lost to her as he dampened a cloth in the hot water, and began to clean her fingers. In spite of the way she squirmed pathetically, he didn’t even bat an eyelash.

His patience didn’t seem the slightest bit tested by her inability to sit still or not jerk her hands away. He would simply coax her hand back into his, and pick up where he left off. When the wounds were clean, he snagged a vial of elfroot salve from the cabinet nearby, and delicately spread it onto her fingers.

“It was one of Varric’s books.” Cherie couldn’t believe the words left her lips, but she had just…suddenly blurted them out in the silence.

Sebastian didn’t look up from rewrapping her fingers. “Hard in Hightown?”

Cherie shook her head, looking anywhere but him.

“Tale of the Champion?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Then what – oh. _Oh_ …”

Cherie flushed. “Odette told me to read it! St-Stop giving me that look!”

“What look? I’m not giving you a look.” The smirk on his face as he replaced the cloth bandages and the elfroot salve said otherwise. He knew exactly what look he was giving her right now.

Cherie said nothing in response, flexing her fingers to test out how tightly he had wrapped them up. To her surprise, they were loose enough to move, yet tight enough so they remained where they should on her hands. He had no doubt wrapped his fair share of wounds in his time, and she was thankful for the newfound comfort of his work However, what should have been a tender moment was ruined by the fact that Sebastian was giving her that grin again.

“R-Regardless, it’s awful. I knew it was atrocious, but that exceeded my expectations in the worst way.” 

Sebastian was trying – and failing – to hide his laughter. “There were sisters in the Chantry in Kirkwall that I overheard talking about the book. I’m surprised the Maker didn’t smite them as soon as they set foot in the Chantry for simply holding the thing.”

“I feel like I need a bath, and I didn’t even get through 50 pages. But I fear there is…n-no water hot enough to erase that filth.”

When she shuddered, her husband snort in an attempt to hold back his laughter, earning a huff from her. He gave up and let the laughter rumble through him. However, his gentle hands seized hers, guiding her back to their bed. The fire had seemingly engulfed the entirety of the book by this point, and the fire was beginning to die down again. The lack of flames made the room feel chilly, but also basked it in a soothing, red-orange glow that made the atmosphere feel much more relaxed.

“There was a friend of Hawke’s that I once knew,” Sebastian said slowly, seeming to mull over his words carefully. “Her name was Isabela, and she nearly tricked Hawke’s little sister, Bethany, into reading one of those kinds of books.”

Cherie watched as he guided her, noting how he didn’t once turn away from her while pulling her towards the bed. The action made her heart race, but she kept listening, unable to look away from the bright blue eyes that bore into her. 

“This one was more blasphemous than anything Varric could ever write – or would for that matter, since I’m sure even the dwarf has _boundaries_ , shocking though that may be.”

He sat on the bed then, forcing the dangling silk canopy to shift away. Cherie felt his fingers lace with hers again, giving the slightest of pulls to make her fall on top of him. It was not a smooth transition. She was a tumbling mess, but Sebastian shifted her with ease to avoid her flailing hands from smacking him or a knee from striking him between the legs. 

Cherie tried to ignore the warmth in the pit of her stomach. “Wh-What was it about?” 

“It was called _’Hessarian’s Spear’ _, and judging by that pretty shade of red on your cheeks, I think you’ve already figured it out.”__

__His body moved, moved hers with it, rolled them over, and then her back hit the plush blankets, small hands resting on either side of her head as she looked up at him. His kiss that came next was gentle, like he was worried if he pressed any harder she would break. The weight of his body on hers as he straddled her was something she couldn’t ignore, no matter how she tried. It made her heart pound harder, faster, louder, the sound drowning out almost everything else. When he pulled away what felt like much too soon, he gingerly took her right hand and pressed soft kisses against her bandaged fingers._ _

__She lamented the loss of his lips as he proceeded to rub soothing circles into the sore, tender muscles of her right arm. The kneading massage made her wince when he touched particularly sore places, the muscles that ached from holding the weight of the bow’s drawstring._ _

__“I wasn’t really…tricked, though,” Cherie admitted quietly. “I had heard _of_ it, of course. Odette and all of our brothers’ wives loved it.”_ _

__“Would explain the large family for most of them,” he muttered quietly. “How many nieces and nephews do you have now?”_ _

__To her surprise, she lamented at the loss of his warmth when he got off of her, flopping onto his side of the bed. The distance between them, however, was quickly closed when he pulled her back towards his chest. Skilled, dexterous fingers worked the swollen muscle of her right shoulder. Which each touch, she let out a displeased whine, which he would immediately soothe with a soft murmur of apology and encouraging words. The constant touch, the pain and pleasure, made it hard to think._ _

__“U-Um…W-Well,” she swallowed, “Odette and Fergus have two with one on the way. Gabriel and Cecilia have six, Claude and Edith have two. Then, Arthur and Natalia have one with another coming.”_ _

__“Explains why you’re good with children.”_ _

__Cherie blinked. “What?”_ _

__“I know you’re not deaf, lass,” he laughed. “You’re good with them. Not many women would allow a small child with muddy feet to stand on her expensive Orlesian shoes to dance.”_ _

__“They’re just shoes.”_ _

__“Are you sure you have Orlesian roots?” Sebastian sent her a teasing grin._ _

__“My mother is Orlesian, but I’m not,” Cherie answered quietly. “She liked luxury, while I craved simplicity. Odette and I both preferred Ferelden, while our brothers preferred Orlais. I remember studying in Denerim and never wanting to leave. Odette and I spent hours before we left trying to convince our mother to let us bring a mabari home with us.”_ _

__“Imaging you with a war dog is an…interesting thought.”_ _

__Cherie laughed softly, then hissed in pain as he pressed harder into the muscle. “They’re incredibly smart. Some say they can understand commands and speech, but are smart enough to not reply back.”_ _

__“Hawke had a mabari. A big, hulking beast of a thing. He fought incredibly well with the dog during battle. It was a sight I’ve never quite seen.”_ _

__Cherie nodded thoughtfully, noticed the way his fingers didn’t press as hard into her shoulder, and felt the way his motions grew slower. She continued to share her adventures in Ferelden, like how Odette had become obsessed with the tales of the Avvar that lived there to the point of making their parents keep her under constant watch for fear of her running off to find a stronghold to marry one of them. She told Sebastian of her time studying in Orlais and seeing the beauty that the country held, but how she ultimately wasn’t too fond of the constant scheming and feel of insincerity._ _

__Sebastian’s hands had since stopped rubbing into her, and they had curled around one another in bed beneath the sheets. The mere weight of his heavy arm draped across her body was enough to soothe her, to bring a sweet, silent peace to her mind._ _

__Her own words began to feel lost to even herself. Sleep was weighing heavily upon her, and when she began to yawn halfway through her sentences, she realized it might be time to stop._ _

__Sebastian hummed lightly to show he was still listening. Through the dimming light, she noticed how tired he looked, the dark bags that had formed beneath his eyes. While she practiced archery and read books all day, he had been devoting himself to his princely duties. In spite of his own exhaustion, he had come to their bedroom and tended to her fingers, listened to her talk, and had worked to soothe her pulsing muscles._ _

__While she wanted to keep feeling his touch on her body, to continue to hear the soft rumble of his humming acknowledgment and deep voice, she knew he needed sleep. She leaned forward, timidly, and pressed her lips against his forehead._ _

__“Let’s…l-let’s sleep, Sebastian…”_ _

__He hummed again, pulled her body closer to his, and she knew that he was already dozing off._ _

___The sleepiest predator I have ever seen. And the sweetest, kindest one, as well._ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are precious. 
> 
> And I have to say that the chapter after this one was easily my favorite one to write. I hope you're all looking forward to it!


	8. Doth Life Begin Anew

He rubbed his temples without any intention of hiding his irritation. The droning voice of Seneschal Lachlan did little to ease his tension, and the information that he prattled off made his head throb harder. He had definitely slept the night before, but not without dreams invading his mind. The memories of his dream were still etched so fresh in his skull, a curiosity considering that most dreams faded within a few minutes of him waking.

These dreams were different, though. These dreams were not driven by fear or nonsensical exhaustion, but by desire. They stirred the beast inside of him, the darker part of himself that craved to taste flesh, that cared not for anything but his own desire. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see it – over and over again.

If there was ever an embodiment of Starkhaven’s opulence and divinity, it was her. Her skin was stark white, pure and innocent and unblemished. Her hair formed a constant halo around her, gold and soft and long.

And his hand had been tangled in that perfect, silky hair, the rest of it falling like a curtain around his body, wrapping around him, around her. She angled her head back, gasping for air as she broke their kiss. Her perfect white neck beckoned to him, and he didn’t hesitate to clench her hair tighter as he brought his lips to her throat. A startled cry danced past her parted, wine-colored lips, a sound that urged him on. He admired her only a moment longer before placing open-mouthed kisses on her throat, biting and nipping, drawing parts of her flesh between his lips. 

He smirked wickedly, proudly, when he saw the shape of his teeth in her neck, watched as a bruise was already rising to the surface from his aggressive hunger. He could feel the bite of her nails in his back, the sweetest of claw marks that he had ever endured.

A voice pierced his fantasy, albeit briefly. “There are to be negotiations for the…”

He stopped listening, bringing his glass to his lips, allowing the refreshing burn to sear his throat. He was used to keeping himself composed in situations like this – he had had plenty of practice when he was younger, and he had only refined the skill more as he got older. Usually, though, he didn’t need to pretend. Typically his discipline would be enough to remind himself to focus, and that would be the end of his drifting mind. 

But when it came to his yearning for Cherie, there was no stopping it. When had he last had a woman? More specifically, when had he ever had such a woman who made him feel the way that she did? The short answer was: never. He wanted to do more than simply devour her, burn her insides with his touch – he wanted to love her, to cherish her and worship her in a way that threatened to surpass his own prayers to the Maker.

It was a thought that shouldn’t be occupying his mind when there were more important things than worrying about sex. Yet here he was, a prisoner to his own desire for his wife, a slave to his yearning and want.

In his dream, she raked her nails down his back again, piercing his skin, urging him forward. He was happy to oblige. The recollection of her desperate touch from his dream beckoned him to return to it.

“…be meeting with Lord Harlow tomorrow at…”

She tangled her fingers through his hair as he crawled down her body, playfully biting her hip bones. He noted that while she didn’t have wide hips, she was thin enough so that he could grasp them like handles. Such an innocent observation laced with blatant sinuous intent. His thumbs traced the jut of her hip bones as he dove lower between her legs.

“…a course of action for the mages…”

She tasted sweet on his tongue, a flavor that he wanted to savor. His tongue was careful, exploring eagerly but gently. When she squirmed as he pressed against her clit with his thumb, he paused to pin her hips back in place. He gave her a look, and then allowed his tongue to plunge into her once more.

“…requisitions for new…”

She was getting so loud, her chest starting to become red from the heat of their exchange. She was saying his name like a prayer, over and over again – she made it sound holy, and it stroked his ego harder. He loved the way she said his name, a sound that sounded only sweet on her lips. He felt her nails abandon his auburn hair to clench at the sheets. He was almost disappointed that she was nearly there, but he supposed it just meant he could bring her to the peak of pleasure over and over again with ease. 

“…more guards…”

He wanted her to keep saying his name – louder and louder, until her throat grew hoarse from screaming. 

_“Sebastian!”_

She began to shake.

_“Sebastian!”_

Her muscles tightened. 

_“Sebast—”_

“—ian! Prince Sebastian! Are you paying attention, Your Highness?” 

Snapping into reality, he looked towards Seneschal Lachlan casually, not daring to allow his expression to show that he had hardly been listening. He would have felt shame if his recollection of the dream wasn’t so damn satisfying. He had to remind himself to fend the smirk from his lips, otherwise he would make it too easy for Lachlan to figure out what was going on in his mind. 

“Yes,” he answered shortly. “We will be meeting with Lord Harlow tomorrow, we need a course of action on how to deal with the mages now that the uprising and chaos has mostly been quelled, there will be new orders coming in about the requisition for reparations to be made to the front gates of Starkhaven, and—”

Seneschal Lachlan raised his hands in defeat. “Very well, Your Highness. I see you were paying attention. You looked distant, is all.”

He bit back a sarcastic remark about always wishing to be distant from him.

Instead, he said, “I’m just tired, that is all. No need to concern yourself.”

Lachlan gave him a look he wasn’t particularly fond of. It was questioning, but held a hint of something that suggested he was assuming things. Sebastian wasn’t really a fan of when people began to just haphazardly guess things about him.

“Your Highness, have you and Lady Cherie—” 

Sebastian narrowed his eyes in warning. “ _Princess_ Cherie. Do make sure to get used to using her proper titles, Seneschal.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry, Your Highness. Have you and _Princess_ Cherie consu—”

“What my wife and I do in our bed is none of your concern, Lachlan. If your concern is about an heir, then once again, I will remind you that what my wife and I do in our bed is _still_ none of your concern. And you will respect our privacy not for my sake, but for hers.”

The Seneschal paled. “Y-Yes…Yes, Your Highness.”

“Now, if that will be all?”

“Of course, Your Highness. I will leave the documents with you to look over further.”

He didn’t move from Sebastian’s plane of view, however, lingering there while fiddling with the papers in his hands. Sebastian could tell there were questions and concerns on his lips, and he leaned back in his chair to prepare to hear them. 

He sighed. “Speak freely, Lachlan.”

“Prince Sebastian, I have known your family for quite some time. I served them faithfully, up until their untimely demise. I have watched you grow. I am merely concerned about your marriage. If you have not yet consummated it, there may be questions about your ability to…”

His cold gaze made Lachlan trail off. He didn’t feel the need to remind him that King Cailan of Ferelden had been married to his wife for five years, and had no heir when he perished. King Alistair had waited five long years himself before he and his wife successfully had children. Sebastian bit his tongue, however. He knew Lachlan would bring up the fact that Cailan’s death nearly landed Anora on the throne, and King Alistair struggled only because the taint in his blood. He would surely make sure to emphasize that Sebastian had no excuse.

“My _ability_ to conceive a child should not be put into question,” Sebastian raised his glass of amber whiskey to his lips. “I assure you everything works _quite_ fine down there.”

“Y-Your Highness,” Lachlan sighed. “I am…pleased to see that your time in the Chantry has done nothing to curb that lewd tongue of yours.”

“Get to the point, Lachlan.” He was growing tired of this conversation the more that his Seneschal opened his mouth.

“When do you and Princess Cherie _intend_ to have children? You are getting no younger.”

Sebastian lowered the glass to the table, securely knitting his fingers through one another. A cold chill pervaded the room, and his glare fastened itself firmly to Lachlan. The heat of the whiskey in his throat turned to fire in his belly, and the rampant winds of irritation began to breathe even further life into the rage he felt brewing inside. 

“We will have children when Her Highness is prepared.”

Lachlan swallowed. “There is a duty to uphold, Your Highness. On both of your parts.”

Sebastian’s smirk was not laced with kindness. Of that he made sure. “I have repeatedly _done_ my duty. To Starkhaven, to my family, to the Free Marches. I _had_ an out of the Chantry, given to me by Grand Cleric Elthina _herself_ , Maker bless her soul. And I returned willingly to take my vows of poverty and chastity. And when my family died, I hunted _down_ their murders as my Maker-given _right_ and _duty_. I made sure that when they perished, when those that betrayed my family died, they knew there was nowhere in the Free Marches or Thedas they could hide from justice.

“And when the throne that I had sworn to _never_ take was presented to me, I prayed to the Maker, and He guided me to the path of duty-sworn honor. I reclaimed Starkhaven, I took the throne in the name of duty. I have sent aid to Kirkwall, sent forces to Ferelden and Orlais to help the Inquisition. Now you dare to remind _me_ of what my duty is, when nearly everything I have done in my life, has been for the sake of duty?”

He wasn’t sure where the cold rage had come from, where it had been hiding inside of his own mind. But it burned both hot and cold inside of him, the wounds feeling fresh as the day he had received them. The bitterness at being given to the Chantry came boiling to the surface, the repeated reminder that he had always served everyone and everything he had committed to with faith and honor – all with duty in mind.

Though he found peace in the Chantry, duty beckoned him back to Starkhaven, to a throne where power and wealth and command awaited him. The things he had sworn to forsake in his vows to the Maker – to the things he had never wanted. He followed His path, though, the one He laid before his feet. The Maker tested him with every step of the way, and he had come out victorious in every regard. He had set aside his own want to continue doing the Maker’s work.

Faith. Family. Duty. Honor.

Why did none of these things seem to involve what he or Cherie wanted?

He unclenched his jaw to take a sip from his glass.

“Starkhaven will have its precious bloody heir. In _time_. Whenever my wife is willing. I will not force myself between her legs simply because people believe _that_ to be her duty, or my right. Her virginity or her body is not something I - nor anyone – is entitled to. Marriage does not permit me to rape my wife, and I will not use our sacred vows between us, overseen by the Maker Himself, as a disgusting justification to defile my wife’s body, heart, and trust. She is more than a broodmare. She is a human being with her own wishes and whims, first and foremost, and you and everyone else would do well to remember that.”

The silence was painful.

“Bring this up again, Lachlan, and any friendship or loyalty that existed between you and my family will be ignored when I send you to the Void. Now, get out of my sight.”

Lachlan set down the stack of papers with deliberate care, like he was afraid that putting them down any more briskly would have earned him his prince’s scorn further. It was a fair fear to have. With a bow of his head, he escaped the room quickly, leaving Sebastian with his own thoughts as he admired the glass of whiskey in his hand.

Seneschal Lachlan was not a bad man. He just loved his city, his home, wished nothing but the best for its people and for the royal family that he served. He was a devout Andrastian, he loved his wife more than anything in the world, and he had unending loyalty to give. That being said, he was traditional, and sometimes treated Sebastian as if he were his son, trying to force the tradition down his own throat. Lachlan had known his father, had known the prince as a young boy who defied every order, every command. The prince understood where his concerns were coming from, but he wasn’t about to pounce on Cherie simply because it was their _duty_ to provide heirs to the throne. 

His wife was not a broodmare. Cherie did not exist in this world solely as a political bargaining chip in her mother’s Grand Game. She was her own person, who was free to have her own interests and her own goals. She was worthy of love, entitled to say no, and she was a woman who deserved respect for it all. It made his heart ache that she seemed to question those reassurances when he spoke with her.

He understood the feeling, though, to have his future decided for him without his consent. And if there was anything where her consent mattered the _most_ , it was what they did in their marital bed. Too many times had he heard the confessions of women who felt ashamed for what had been done to their bodies against their will, something that they had never wanted. Hearing their sobs, the way they desperately tried to silence themselves behind quivering hands, had made the darkness inside of him subside further. He had craved the feel of a woman around him, wanted nothing more on some days to visit the Blooming Rose in secret, and then he would hear a voice, one he knew belonged to a courtesan at the very brothel he used to frequent.

And her weeping would tear him apart inside. Plenty of women there enjoyed their jobs, enjoyed the pleasure – and others did not. The fact that he had never noticed the difference when he used to frequent the place made him sick to his stomach. 

That had always been enough to chain the beast inside. That had been what made him swear to never desire another woman but a willing one – his willing wife, if the Maker was kind. And so the Maker was.

Shaking the thoughts aside, smothering them into silence, he took some time to read through the missives that Seneschal Lachlan had set before him. It took perhaps an hour or so before his legs grew stiff from sitting still for so long. So he decided to simply take his work with him through the palace, striding down the marble halls while flipping through the pages. When he had read through each and every one, made mental notes about the information he retained, he returned the papers to the cabinet room where he had held his meeting his with Seneschal. 

Returning to his bedchamber resulted in him furrowing his brow. Cherie was not in sight. 

_Maker, that woman better not be practicing the bow again._

But when he checked the small courtyard nestled near the backend of the palace, she wasn’t there either. He checked the library, the grand hall, the kitchens, the solar – yet she was nowhere to be seen. 

“Serah, have you seen Princess Cherie?” Asking one of the guards felt degrading, but he had looked everywhere, and was convinced that she was no one to be found. The fact that he felt so panicked to ask someone her whereabouts left a sickness in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes, Your Highness. The princess wished to visit the Chantry.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “I see. And there were guards with her escorting her there, correct?”

“Yes, Your Highness. A dozen.”

He felt content at the answer, but not enough to completely suffocate the irrational concern that he felt about her wellbeing. He would have preferred to be by her side, and the panic gripped at his insides when he recalled how his family had been slaughtered years before. Before the fear could overwhelm him, he turned away from the guard, slipping back from the gatehouse and heading into his family’s home again.

_The Maker will protect her…and the 12 finely trained guards would likely help, too._

It was no secret to himself that he questioned people’s intentions deeply. Ever since his own family had been slaughtered, he had found himself distrusting of nearly everyone who crossed his path. He questioned their loyalty, their oaths, their vows. The circumstance in which his own family was killed was bizarre, but not uncommon, and one that he desperately wished to not have repeat. Not even the thought that she was within a Chantry gave him comfort, either. 

Not since that insane zealot destroyed the one in Kirkwall.

With his evening free, and his mind craving a distraction, he retired to their bed chambers. He dared not allow his mind to delve further into the irrational fear of what _could_ happen. He didn’t want to think further on it, so he called for hot water, disrobing only when he was certain that he was alone.

The day had passed by in a whirlwind, in a frantic blur that made him question what he had really done with his time, besides listen to missives, get lost in fantasies, and choke on his own waking nightmares. All in a day’s work, he supposed. 

The scalding water felt divine as it caressed his bare skin, enveloping him in a soothing embrace that loosened the stiff muscles of his body. In this bathtub, as he sunk down to submerge himself entirely, he was no one. He was not a Chantry initiate, not a prince, not an archer, nothing. He savored the feel of the water rinsing the grit from his skin and hair before resurfacing to take a deep breath. Sitting perfectly still, he felt the world beginning to ebb and fade away, giving him a brief reprieve from all of his worldly troubles.

Except one.

His relaxed state left the metaphorical floodgates of his mind open, and his desire breached them with ease. He could picture her again, with her small body cloaked with her own blonde locks, the golden tresses caressing her narrow figure. The flush on her face was precious, endearing – and it made his body begin to stiffen.

With a grunt, Sebastian quickly sat upright a bit too quickly, glaring down at himself in the bath. Through the rippling water, he could see the way he slowly began to rise. With an exasperated sigh, he dropped his head back, tossed his arms over the sides of the tub, and clenched his eyes shut. Ringlets of water danced down the edges of the tub, and his soaked hair clung to his face and neck.

He exhales heavily. “Oh, Maker…I need to pray. A lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was easily my favorite chapter to write. I enjoyed exploring the more raw kind of emotions that Sebastian is capable of having, as well as daring to explore the way he might feel over certain things in his life.
> 
> Everyone is welcome to their opinions and their headcanons, naturally. I won't ever judge anyone for theirs! I have my own headcanons on Sebastian (and wow I haven't used the word "headcanon" since my tumblr days _years_ ago). I believed he always had survivor's guilt, which often conflicted with his feelings of resentment towards his family; with that sick feeling of abandonment always gnawing at the back of his mind. 
> 
> It's hard to imagine that he - or anyone - wouldn't get a little pissed if their devotion to their duty was brought into question after devoting ones entire life to it in some form or another. It's also hard to imagine that he - again, or anyone - wouldn't get angry when someone tried to urge him that he _had_ to sleep with his wife. If you haven't caught on, he seems to react very poorly to people telling him what to do (who _aren't_ the Maker), and he reacts even more poorly when people tell him what to do simply because it's his duty to do it. He wants to pursue things at his own leisure, and enjoy both the blessings and consequences that his _own_ choices may bring, because he never really had that chance with people breathing down his throat constantly telling him that no matter what his choice was, it was wrong.
> 
> Anyways, I enjoyed writing this, that's all there is to it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the last few chapters of this, as I'm eager to share them! :)


	9. Come to Me, Child, and I Shall Embrace You

Revered Mother Fenella had been shocked when Cherie stepped into the Chantry, flanked on nearly every side by armored guards who stood firmly at attention. Cherie had squirmed under her scrutiny, but quickly found her voice when she remembered that she couldn’t always remain silent. She was the _Princess of Starkhaven_ , and she needed to learn how to fit into her title; preferably in a manner that didn’t mean always cowering behind her husband while he did all of the talking.

The Revered Mother was even further shocked when Cherie explained why she had come, but the way the old woman smiled brought relief where there had previously been doubt. As she led Cherie through the sprawling, pristine, stark white Chantry, the guards followed close behind. 

Cherie spent the entire rest of her evening with a broad smile on her face. She even convinced some of the guards to join in.

By the time she returned, it was dark out, and it seemed she had gotten on the Revered Mother’s good side. It was a victory that she would take, but she hadn’t gone to the Chantry with that being her intention, naturally. 

As she stepped through the door of the bed chamber she shared with her husband, she went straight as a board. The sight before her made her feel like she should just turn right around and stomp back to the Chantry to pray. And never stop praying. Ever.

Sebastian was drying his hair with a towel, standing near the blazing fireplace. Rivulets of water ran down the muscles of his back, which flexed with every single movement he made to dry his auburn hair. His tanned skin looked like it was glowing from the way the firelight danced over his body – which was completely devoid of any clothes whatsoever. She saw his armor carefully set in its place on a table near the door, and the linen undershirt he wore, along with his black, high-necked jerkin, had been tossed onto one of the large lounge chairs by the fireplace. 

_Andraste’s tears, he has dimples on his…his…_

Cherie turned around abruptly, the sound of rustling fabric seeming to draw Sebastian’s attention to her. Her tiny hands covered her face, not even daring to peek between the cracks of her fingers. She could already feel the heat of a blush invading her porcelain skin, dancing down her neck and onto her chest. Her core felt molten, burning her inside out. 

“Ah. There you are.”

_How in the name of the Maker can he be so calm right now?!_

“A-Ah…aha…yes. Sorry, I was…at the Chantry. Um…”

There was a pause, then the sound of rustling fabric again. And then, “You can turn around now, lass.”

When she turned, he was far closer than she had expected, but was at least wearing breeches, even if they did hang suspiciously low on his hips. For the first time, she noticed the way his muscles tapered down into a V-shape, which vanished beneath the cover of his laced breeches. He had a small bit of chest hair, and some in a trail that started beneath his belly button, which crept towards the point of the V.

A hand waved in front of her face. “S-Sorry, what?”

“A little distracted, aren’t we?” The smirk on his lips was nothing but trouble, but the look in his eyes showed a glimmer of understanding.

“Oh. Yes. Sorry. I am, it’s been a long day,” she replied quietly, struggling to keep her eyes away from his body. “How was…how was your day?”

Sebastian’s eyebrow raised at her, but he swept a hand through his wet hair and shrugged a single shoulder. His lips moved, but Cherie felt herself slowly tuning out again, eyes at first falling from his eyes to his mouth. He had full lips set just above a strong jaw line and chin, giving him both a look of power and nobility. Unable to help herself, she slowly let her eyes dance down, down his neck where his Adam’s apple moved with his speech, across his prominent collar bones, where water droplets hit from his hair.

“Cherie.”

“Hm?”

Sebastian’s smirk had faded. “Are you feeling alright?”

The frantic wailing of her heartbeat said no, while the warmth forming in the pit of her stomach said yes. Sebastian’s eyes bore into hers, and he stepped closer to her, a single calloused hand reaching out to gingerly grab her chin. From his bath, he smelled of birch water and mint, the aroma not so overpowering as to make her wince, but strong enough to draw her in.

“I am. I think.”

“You think?” 

She swallowed the lump in her throat, prying herself away from Sebastian to step closer to the conjoined washroom. Once she was away from him, her heartbeat slowed and her fogged senses seemed to clear up the slightest bit. Cherie was innocent, but she was not ignorant – she knew what attraction was, and she knew how lust felt. Just because she had never acted upon these feelings when she was younger didn’t make her unaware of their existence. However, the arrival of these feelings made her stomach twist painfully into tight knots, so tight that not even the heat from her own desire could undo them. 

“I’m going to get out of this dress,” she laughed, fanning herself lightly. “It’s quite…warm. Ex-Excuse me.”

He didn’t follow. He always allowed her privacy and space when she needed it. Sebastian never forced the issue of sex upon her, even when she thought that he might. He was interested, she knew that much. He made it clear in the way he kissed her sometimes, with passion being held back by flimsy floodgates ready to burst. Everything he did was careful, calculated, and restrained, like he was making the strongest of efforts to reign himself in as not to hurt or terrify her. 

He reacted only when she did, he responded only when she expressed explicit interest, he advanced when she encouraged him to. Not once had he assaulted her with grasping, desperate hands, or an unwelcome hungry mouth. Even when she felt like continuing, had wanted to beg him not to stop, he would retract himself from her, instead opting for pulling her body close to hers for soothing, innocent touches. 

She wondered why, sometimes.

Once she peeled off the dress, and slipped into another nightgown, she inspected herself in one of the mirrors, smoothing her hands over the fine, loose material. It bothered her how she didn’t quite fill out the airy fabric, but she supposed that they were meant to be loose for a reason. Even so, she wondered if she looked like a child to him, constantly donning long, white nightgowns with sleeves that danced past her knuckles. Surely if this was off-putting, he wouldn’t kiss her to begin with, right?

Perhaps he was just waiting for her to say that she wanted to continue, to provide her verbal consent.

Cherie paled. 

That’s what Sebastian wanted. Her consent. He wanted to hear her _say_ it was okay to continue, that she wanted him to. Out loud. With her mouth. With her words – which everyone just loved to remark on how good she was at forming.

Surely that was the reason he always stopped, always hesitated, always paused. 

The realization made her heart both hurt and melt in her chest. The wolf that her sister warned her about was no wolf at all – he was sweet and tender, gentle, with a clear amount of concern for whatever made her comfortable.

_Still need to write that strongly worded letter. It’s going to be worded even more strongly, now! Chalk this victory up to me, Odette!_

She shooed the thoughts away, not bothering to tie up her long hair as she stepped back into their bedroom. Sebastian peered at her intently from his place on their bed, preparing to rise from where he sat before Cherie shook her head. It was enough of a motion to still him, to halt him in his tracks. In spite of the images of his naked body flashing through her mind, she moved towards him, closer and closer until she stood right in front of him. 

“Feeling better, lass? You looked ready to fall over for a moment there.”

Cherie nodded slowly. “I am…still having trouble finding my voice around you sometimes, honestly.”

“Hm. I leave you speechless, do I?” His smirk flashed at her, and her heart went wild in her chest. A blush made itself right at home on her cheeks.

Then, in a moment of boldness – or stupidity, she hadn’t decided yet – she pulled up the skirt of her nightgown, high enough that she wouldn’t stumble over it on top of him, and held it up as she settled herself into his lap. His expression was one of intrigue, a single eyebrow raising on his forehead while his arms immediately wrapped around her thin body. She melted into his touch, felt her eyelids flutter as a sigh pushed past her lips.

“Revered Mother Fenella is a kind woman.” Her words came out quiet. She feared that if she spoke any louder, it would cause their peaceful moment to come crashing to the ground.

Sebastian placed a kiss on her temple, and she tilted her head to allow him room to set a trail of kisses down her neck. “You managed to reveal that woman’s kindness so quickly?”

“Hmmm…yes. She was stern, but with good intentions.”

A breath escaped her lips when he nipped at the flesh of her shoulder. His arms remained around her body, hands resting gently on her back, urging her to arch her body against his. She found that his touches held little urgency, no desperate need to ravage her. His care around her was endearing, and it made her heart flutter in her chest. He kissed her and touched where he did because he knew that’s what she was okay with.

“Though I’m curious what made you visit the Chantry. If you had wished to sing the Chant of Light or pray, we have our own oratory here. Not that I am complaining about your devotion to the Maker.”

His kisses ceased so he could look at her, his expression expectant. Cherie allowed her hands to sweep through his hair, brushing away a stray bit that had fallen across his forehead.

“I didn’t go to sing the Chant,” she admitted quietly. “I went to…play with the children. They house many orphans there, and there aren’t enough sisters and brothers to tend to them. I used to do the same in Kirkwall before…”

She trailed off, felt his grip tighten, felt his fingers clench her body, saw his jaw tighten. Wishing nothing more than to soothe him, she continued to pass her fingers through his hair. A moment passed before he relaxed again. He closed his eyes, seeming to enjoy the delicate attention of her hands. Cherie didn’t complain when he rested his face in the crook of her neck or when he pulled their bodies closer to one another.

They stayed like that for a while, with his arms around her, his breath tickling her neck, while she tenderly raked her fingers through his hair. She had discarded the bandages earlier when she played with the children, and found that the elfroot salve had worked wonders. She was glad she had, too, because otherwise his hair would be catching on the linen wraps and making this quite difficult.

“You’ll make a wonderful mother.” Sebastian’s words were gentle, wistful almost. 

Cherie, for once, didn’t go stiff or feel herself flush. “There is one question I have…b-been meaning to ask, Sebastian.”

“Well, I’m right here, ears open, love.”

She ignored the press of something against her backside when she said his name. Whatever reaction that had provoked, it was one she hadn’t quite expected. For now, she wouldn’t bring it up. 

“How many children do-do you wish to have?”

Her question hung in the air for a minute, lingering there as they both continued to bask in the silence that followed. She hoped that they wouldn’t end up sending their children off to the Chantry like his parents had done to him. Rowdy boys and girls could be tempered with time, and she loathed the idea of sending children away for the sake of politics. She had had just about enough of the scheming and plotting when it came to that front – even if it had led her to Sebastian, it had also nearly landed her in the jagged, cruel maw of Vaughan Kendells before that. It was a parent’s duty to protect their children, not treat them as pawns for advancement. 

“I haven’t given it much thought,” he replied finally, earnestly. “Before I reclaimed my family’s throne, I had been an initiate in the Chantry, had taken vows of chastity and poverty. I had never thought I would marry nor have children of my own.”

“That is true. I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought about that before I…”

Sebastian revealed his face, and the smirk had found itself onto his lips once more. She shivered. His teeth looked sharp again, wicked, hungry – that was the look that she had only caught glimpses of, the look that would perhaps solidify her sister’s claims about his true nature. But he had never acted on it, so that was a strong perhaps.

“That being said, I am more curious on your perspective than my own, given that I do not have to do the, uh…difficult parts.”

Cherie pursed her lips. “I’ve always wanted a large family. I come from one, so I suppose it’s just what I’m used to. B-But…with that many kids…”

“If you’re concerned about politics playing a part in the lives of our children, it will be inevitable. They will be involved, definitely because of the family they’re born into, but if the Maker calls them to another path, I will hold no qualms with what He holds in store for them. It is also not my intention to send my children away, or forsake them.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” she breathed. “That is…such a relief.”

Sebastian smirked again. “We can start whenever you’re ready.” 

Laughter followed the statement, and she could tell that he was teasing her. Even so, it made her cheeks light up in red, made her heart bang brutally against her ribcage, and she felt that foreign yet familiar feel of heat in the pit of her stomach. His arms untangling from her mid-section forced her back into reality again, and she pulled her hands from his hair to push her own behind her ears.

_Just...just say it! Tell him! Why are you embarrassed? You’ve made the decision on your own time. No time like the present, right? But he’ll never know unless you say something._

“…now…”

Sebastian was shifting back on the bed, but paused when she squeaked out only part of her sentence. His eyes pierced into her, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what she was doing. Swallowing, she lowered her head, unable to say anything when he was looking at her like that.

“Speak up, lass.”

“I…”

_Say it!_

Taking a deep breath, Cherie raised her head again, biting her bottom lip. She caught the way his eyes briefly snapped down to her mouth, then back up to her eyes. With a determined gulp, she managed to swallow the lump in her throat that her own words had formed. It felt like she couldn’t breathe, but the heat in her insides overwhelmed the lack of air, and she opened her mouth again. Air flowed in.

And then she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling their bodies close again. Her head tilted, and she squeezed her eyes shut while her lips pressed gingerly against his ear. For what felt like an eternity, she said nothing, with his hands just lingering on her hips. He was waiting for her to say something, do something, anything.

_Find your voice, Cherie._

“Let’s start now, Sebastian.”

Sebastian pulled back, eyes locking onto hers. “I was only joking about tha—Oh…Oh, Maker, you’re serious.”

Cherie nodded. 

“Lass, you do know what you’re asking, right? Are you sure?” He watched her carefully.

Once again, she nodded her head. “Yes. I am.” She tried to keep her tone steady, keep the doubt from her voice.

“Really?”

“Really.” 

“Truly?”

“Sebastian…”

_How many times does he want to make sure that I want this?_

Sebastian’s expression was unreadable to her, and he wasn’t moving, remaining where he was for several beats. Then in a swift motion, he twisted his body, pushing Cherie off of him and onto the bed. She found herself once again beneath him, with his body looming above hers. There was a glint in his eyes that she had never seen before, but one that she easily placed as desire. She felt it, too.

His fingers laced through hers, pinned them over her head. 

And then a hot, hoarse whisper against her ear, “Then let’s get started…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhh, snap! One last chapter left!
> 
> I'm currently working on a bit more stuff for these two. The support that I've been getting has been crazy positive and a little overwhelming - in a good way, of course! I hadn't quite expected the reaction that I've been getting for this story. You're all incredibly sweet, and I will post the last chapter late tomorrow night since I DM for a group of friends on Friday's after work!
> 
> In other news, please keep an eye out on my profile for new works that will be coming fairly soon as well - works that will also likely be Sebastian-centric in terms of romance options. However, what I have in the works is something a bit more dark and emotional. Maybe a bit more raw? Who knows! But do keep an eye out for that - your feedback and support on that would also mean a lot on that, as well.
> 
> For now, have a great night everyone, and I hope you're all hyped for the next and final chapter!
> 
> And remember: **CONSENT IS SEXY.**


	10. In My Arms Lies Eternity

Sebastian had never heard sweeter words from anyone’s lips. There was not a woman in his past that could hold a candle to Cherie. He had asked more than once for good measure, and then another time because he needed to be sure she wanted _him_ \- the former Exiled Prince that no one had wanted, until it came to last resort. And she had confidently told him yes, over and over again.

Though her words were sweet, however, they awoke the beast inside of him, the wolf that had been prowling on the outskirts of his mind until this moment. Where it had been waiting, watching, it was charging now, leading him, encouraging him.

He took only a moment to appreciate the sight of her body beneath his, still cloaked in white, delicate material. When the moment passed, he captured her lips with his own, feeling her tilt her head to try and deepen the kiss, her lips parting just enough for him to notice. He caught her hint, her unspoken word, and he ran his tongue across the seam of her lips. Her hands clenched his tighter, and her lips parted further. 

She was less clumsy and more apprehensive in her reactions, so he reeled it in a moment. His tongue sought out hers, and he noted how her mouth tasted like strawberries. She mimicked his actions, their tongues meeting slowly. It was a heated, but brief dance before Sebastian pulled back to nip at her bottom lip, to create a trail of kisses along her jaw and to her neck. In spite of his want to bite down harder, to mark her body with his heated kiss, he fought against it. Already he could feel the shackles on the beast inside coming loose, and he struggled to keep it at bay.

“If you ever want me to stop…”

“I don’t,” she breathed.

“But if you _do_ …”

As he peered up at her through his eyelashes, he could see her cheeks already growing red, could see the way she had begun to writhe under his touch, and also the faint twitch of her face that he registered as impatience. It was enticing, and it provoked him to keep going. He pried his calloused hands from her dainty ones, allowing his hands to drag down the length of her arms before they settled on the bed on either side of her body. He didn’t have to tell her to keep her hands over her head, she simply _did. _It was a realization that made him more pleased than he would ever care to admit – even in a confessional.__

__She was so pliant, so willing, so eager – and Maker, he loved it. He loved the way she knew._ _

__Her skin was so soft beneath his lips, so pale and white that he was certain if he bit down too hard, bruises would be sure to follow. And quickly, too. While the sight would have given him nothing but pleasure, he reminded himself that this was a moment to take with sincere, deliberate speed. For now, he would restrain himself as best he could, continue to deliver the softest of nips upon her flesh. Down, down, down he went, until he pressed his lips on her sternum through the fabric of her nightgown._ _

__She shuddered beneath him, and he did his best to hide the smirk growing on his face. Over the soft, thin fabric of her nightgown, he continued to lay down kisses. He worked his way down, hovering over her hips, pausing his teasing only to begin to bunch up the skirt of her dress. The entire time he pulled it higher and higher, he kept his eyes locked onto her face. When he got the bulk of it to her thighs, he slipped his hands underneath to feel the gentle slopes of her thighs. He crept his hands higher to run his exploring palms over the strands of her smallclothes, biting back a chuckle when she squirmed._ _

__Just like in his dream, she had bony hips and a flat stomach that only made the jutting curve of her hip bones stand out more. His thumbs traced her hip bones, and he clenched them to confirm that – yes – they would certainly give him something to grip onto._ _

__After blindly admiring her with his hands, he sat upright on the bed, inching the fabric higher on her body. And then his fingers curled in it, threatening to tear it open._ _

__“Such thin fabric…I could rip this right off, you know.”_ _

__She shook her head. “I like this one, though…” Even in the throes of passion, she somehow managed to make his heart melt. The purity in them was precious._ _

__“Then I’ll take care,” he murmured, leaning down to press another kiss against her lips, against her chin, her jaw line. “I’ll just buy you some that I _can_ destroy.”_ _

__“…If I ever wear green, I’d likely beg you to get that off of me, though. That was always my sister’s color more than mine...”_ _

___Was that a smirk I just saw on her face? Maker, it is. Am I responsible for that?_ _ _

__Sebastian smirked at the confirmed tiny smile on her face. “Noted.”_ _

__Slowly, he began to peel the gown up her body. He waited for her hands to intervene, kept watching her face for any hint of alarm or disapproval. Instead, she arched her body, shifted so that he could peel away the cloth much easier. Confidence flared inside of him, pulling her body upright against his to help her shed away the dress. And with a smirk, he tossed it to the side and off the bed._ _

__Before him, on her knees just as he was, she looked so small and fragile. Her blonde hair was still somehow pristine, falling right back into place before it had been briefly disheveled by the removal of clothing. She had a thin frame, but it was not unattractive or unhealthy. She didn’t need dramatic curves to make her beautiful. As he inspected her, she played with her hands, toyed with the ring on her finger that mirrored the one on his._ _

__His lips pulled into a grin, and he tilted his head into her line of sight to catch her attention, once more pressing a kiss against her lips. Meanwhile, his fingers teasingly twisted the string of her smalls around themselves, until his index fingers had the material threaded around them. It took a single fluid movement, a tug, and those were cast off to the side after her chemise onto the floor. She wore no chest bindings - thank the Maker - for him to remove. Breaking the kiss, he raised an eyebrow and gave her a push to lie back down._ _

__Pride and pleasure coursed through his veins, molten hot desire mixing with his blood to carry it through the entirety of his body. He burned inside, from the pit of his stomach to the center of his chest. The sight of her naked beneath him with her hair fanned out like a glowing halo made his muscles twitch, and his cock jerk to life. The fact that she only wore her ring on her finger that matched his, the ring that promised their eternity together, made his insides tighten more, made his blood flow hotter. Though he wished to admire her like this forever to make sure this moment would remain engrained in his mind until the end of his days, he felt his patience wearing thin._ _

__Another smile worked onto his face, a lopsided smirk, as he placed his hands on her thighs, pulling them apart without resistance on her end. The burning blush had crept down her down chest, once again another thing that he seemed to subconsciously guess correctly. She watched him with a bewildered expression, obviously unsure what he was about to do. Without realizing it, he ran his tongue across his lips, and then brought himself down her body again, this time free to lavish her flesh with kisses and bites without the barrier of linen between them._ _

__He felt her breath catch several times, and it only got more ragged the closer he inches to the heat at the apex of her legs. He could smell the faint aroma of her arousal penetrating the air, soft and sweet. He hadn’t quite expected her to be one who meticulously kept the area well-groomed, but it suited her. The light-colored hair had been not entirely abolished from her body but had been carefully trimmed close to the skin._ _

__His hands clenched her thighs tighter, nudging them gently to grant him more access. Again, she complied, and he heard her let out an airy prayer to the Maker._ _

__“Is every part of you so beautiful?”_ _

__Cherie flushed, shuddered, and bit her bottom lip. “I don’t…c-can you stop staring at me like that? It’s embarrassing.”_ _

__Sebastian quirked a brow, felt something ignite further inside. He hadn’t quite caught fire yet. For now, he remained smoldering inside, burning at his core. His curious expression shifted into shadowed desire, a predatory smile dancing onto his lips._ _

__Without a word, he allowed his tongue to touch her skin, to test the waters to see what her reaction would be. And oh, was it _divine_. She dropped her head back onto the mound of pillows behind her, and he heard her clamp her hands over her mouth to muffle the whimper of surprise. It was just what he wanted, what he had needed. Hungry for her, he threw his patience away – but not his careful restraint – and dragged his tongue deftly between her lips. She tasted so sweet._ _

__He brought his right hand closer while he traced invisible patterns into her heat with his tongue, closing his eyes to concentrate on the way her body reacted. When his tongue sought out that sensitive, little bundle of nerves, she arched her body towards him, and let out another cry to the Maker, this one muffled against her hand. He made a note to himself that he would need to remedy her need to hide her cries. For now, he circled his tongue around her lower lips, and traced her opening the tip of his middle finger._ _

__The sensation made her let out another cry, but this one made him abruptly stop. She had not just cried for the Maker…_ _

__He wanted to hear it again._ _

__He ran his tongue over his lips. “Couldn’t quite hear you, lass. What was that?”_ _

__She looked down at him, and her usually placid, serene face was bright red. Her teeth caught her bottom lip and she shook her head._ _

__Sebastian pushed his middle finger into her molten core, and felt her body immediately clench tightly around his digit. She was tight, alright. But she was also hot and sopping wet, embracing the push of his finger’s entrance into her body without difficulty. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she arched into him._ _

__When he began to pump in and out of her, she arched her back once more, her mouth opened and nothing but a sigh escaped her. She was dripping, and the fact that it was all because of him, for him, brought him more pleasure than the mindless sex had given him as a youth._ _

__That had been hollow._ _

__He slid his ring finger in beside his middle finger, and felt the way she shuddered, watched the breath pour from her mouth as her wine-colored lips broke apart. He set a gentle kiss onto the inside her right thigh with a tilt of his head, and nipped at the flesh while he continued to work her inside. The obscene sounds her body made seemed almost unnatural, like such a pristine, pure woman wouldn’t be able to make such noises._ _

__Sebastian reveled in them._ _

__He twisted his wrist, curled his fingers, and then watched her spasm from the touch. A wicked grin was lost against the flesh of her thigh, and he refused to pull his eyes from her._ _

___Found it._ _ _

__With well-practiced dexterity, he worked that same spot, over and over again, and he watched as she slowly began to tremble, felt the way her legs quivered against him. It was a thing of beauty to watch her come undone completely, to fall apart from the simple touch of two of his fingers._ _

__His mouth returned to her heat, tongue once again smothering the swollen button with attention._ _

__The red on her chest grew brighter. He was glad that her body gave her away so easily._ _

___Sex flush. She’s close…if she hasn’t already._ _ _

__His hand retracted, and his mouth followed, and the expression her face nearly ended him. She looked like a wounded animal, shaking and quivering and begging for him to come back._ _

__The look made him aware of the painful way his own arousal was making itself known. How he had managed to ignore it until this very moment was a miracle. He ran his tongue across his fingers to clean away the proof of her lust and desire, while the opposite hastily yanked at the drawstring of his breeches. With less grace and finesse than he would have desired, he maneuvered out of them, adding to the discarded articles of clothing._ _

__“Oh.” Her tone was hard to read, her expression even harder._ _

__Sebastian tilted his head at her, and then looked down at himself. “Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh’?”_ _

__“I…I’m not…sure…I don’t have experience t-to speak from.”_ _

__“Books didn’t teach you this, hm?”_ _

__“N-Not funny! Th-Those books were _terrible_!”_ _

__Now that he thought about it – though he didn’t really have the patience to linger long on the thought – she was small. While he was no goliath, he certainly made her seem really tiny in comparison._ _

__“Only one way to find out,” he murmured, inching closer, drawing slow almost lazy circles between her nether lips with his fingers, while the other stroked his length. “This may not be the most…comfortable thing. If you need time, let me know. Understood?”_ _

__She let out a breath. “Sebastian, please…”_ _

__There it was._ _

__The thing he had wanted to hear, needed to hear, craved to hear pass her lips. He felt his heart throb in his chest, and he let out a groan. He placed himself between her thighs, trying to take his time while he worked himself along her slick folds, attempting to capture what lubricant from her body that he could. Oh, the heat he felt from her body and from within his own, it was more intoxicating than anything this world could possibly harbor._ _

__His hands reached down to grab her hips to pull her closer, to bunch up some of the blanket to place beneath her backside to angle her hips better. Then he took hold of his shaft, glanced up at her, watched as she clenched the blankets on either side of her head._ _

__He grit his teeth in impatience as he rubbed his thumb covered in her liquid desire over the head of his cock, and then pressed against her entrance. She stretched to accommodate him, and she took several sharp inhales._ _

__He retracted a bit, then pushed in further, retracted a bit, and pushed in further. Though he would have loved nothing more than to pound into her and make her scream, he ground his teeth together to fight the urge. He worked himself inside of her, slowly, until he could sink no further into her heat, and he was sheathed entirely inside of her. He vaguely wondered how she had managed to take him entirely, but the thought fluttered away almost as quickly as it came. He didn’t have time for such idle considerations._ _

__He could appreciate these things later, he was sure._ _

__Allowing her a moment to adjust, to wait for her signal, was agonizing._ _

__“Sebastian…”_ _

__He jerked involuntarily, and she let out a sound of strangled pleasure. “Maker’s breath, woman…say my name again, please.”_ _

__“Sebastian.” There was no question in her glance or tone. There was need._ _

__He shot his eyes to her, watched as she stared back at him with her flushed face and parted lips. He kept a single hand on her hip as he leaned down over her,supporting his upper body with his free forearm that rested on the pillows near her head. His lips brushed against hers, bit at her bottom lip._ _

__She was so tight around him, so hot and wet. And she had said his name. The shackles had been discarded now. Something inside of him broke, and he pulled back before pressing in again, slowly._ _

__He pressed open-mouthed kisses against her neck, buried his face in her hair. “Again.”_ _

__“Sebastian…” Her lips pressed against his ear, he felt her hot breath._ _

__He rolled his hips against her, struggling to keep a reign on the speed and force he used to stroke into her body. Meanwhile, her hands had since abandoned the blankets, arms tangling around his body, her fingers winding through his hair. She was still tight, so tight, but he could feel her slowly relaxing, becoming more comfortable, less tense._ _

__The smell of Andraste’s Grace and roses on her skin was overwhelmed by the faint aroma of sweat and sex now, but it faintly came through. It was heavenly._ _

__The thrusts came easier, and he reached down to hook one of her legs around his back. It gave him the ability to plunge deeper into her, swift, smooth strokes seeming to never stop._ _

__The way her nails clawed at him revealed her desperation, the sweet sound of her gentle voice crying out his name, over and over again, filling him with desire and pride. The lewd sounds coming from where their bodies joined again and again made him press a little harder, delve a little deeper._ _

__The blush on her chest began to grow bright again, her skin blossoming from the heat of their lovemaking._ _

__He felt his own rise coming, felt that familiar tightness in his lower depths._ _

__He felt between their bodies, fingers searching for her sensitive little bundle. It was easy enough, and he rubbed at it with his thumb, little quick circles that made one of her hands abandon the flesh of his back to clamp over her mouth._ _

__“Don’t muffle your cries for me, lass. I want you to scream my name, Cherie,” he growled. “Scream it!”_ _

__The shift in his voice, from deep and aristocratic, to hoarse and husky, surprised even himself._ _

__The throbbing warmth of her wet sheath seemed to grow tighter, clench harder. She was having an internal struggle, and then her lips parted, and she cried out his name, louder and louder until her own voice began to break and shatter. Her hand was not over her lips when she did._ _

__He felt her insides tremble, felt the way her leg around him began to tighten around his waist, and then slowly lose its strength. The overflow of her release engulfed him, and he savored the feel of her hot core for a moment longer._ _

__His own thrusts had grown desperate, starved from release for so long. He felt that heat rising, felt himself quiver inside. With a final thrust, he buried himself deep inside of her, pulling her body firmly against his._ _

__Letting out a savage moan that he muffled against her neck, he allowed himself to release, allowed himself to pour into her, to fill her. The spasms of his muscles was violent, and the ripple of his orgasm tore through his entire body._ _

__It hadn’t lasted long, but it didn’t need to._ _

__They said nothing for a moment, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking, foreheads pressed against one another while they caught their breath. He was careful when he slipped from her body, even more careful when he laid down besides her. She looked exhausted, and for the first time, completely and utterly disheveled. Her hair was a mess, tangled and sticking to her body where sweat had gathered, and she looked as if she were about to melt straight into a puddle before his very eyes. He suppressed a chuckle, tracing absentminded circles along the flesh of her body._ _

__He carefully cast a glance down at her body, curious to see if she had bled. She had not. It brought him an incredible amount of relief. All women were different, and he was honestly not sure what to expect from Cherie._ _

__As she continued to melt, to sometimes squirm as she began to register the rather…untidy state of her body, they fell into a comfortable silence._ _

__Finally, “It was a good ‘oh’.”_ _

__“I gathered, love,” he murmured the words against her temple, giving her the softest of kisses. “Especially with how many times you cried out my name.”_ _

__She flushed deeply._ _

__“And did you know your chest gets all red when you come, lass? It’s quite adorable.”_ _

__“Sebastian…” She groaned, covering her face._ _

__“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he reassured her. “Do you want your nightgown back?”_ _

__“W-Well…I am _quite_ embarrassed. S-Such filthy words. And no…it’s okay.”_ _

__“To be fair, all those filthy words came out of _my_ mouth. And I don’t believe that I heard you complaining between your cries to the Maker and cries for me,” he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “And so eager to sleep naked, are we? Didn’t pin you for the type.”_ _

__Cherie pursed her lips tightly, which he noticed had become a little swollen from heated kisses and hungry bites. Though he hadn’t intended it, there were a few tiny love bites on her shoulders and her neck. She seemed to make a point to ignore his remark, as well._ _

__“I still need to write my sister a letter….th-though I think I need to alter some details.”_ _

__“Oh?”_ _

__She turned her head to stare at him. “I-I need to tell her I found the wolf, after all.”_ _

__Sebastian chuckled deeply, swiping some hair from her face, leaning in to press his lips against hers._ _

__And then he pressed his lips to her ear. “Oh…you have _no_ idea, lass…”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~ And then Cherie went and peed because UTIs are a bitch. ~~
> 
> Well, that ends this series! 
> 
> There will likely be more parts to the Cherie and Sebastian series, but for now, I have been working on another story entirely that will once again feature Sebastian as the romantic interest. Please do me a HUGE favor if you enjoyed this - go ahead and look out for that next story.
> 
> Please note that this is the first piece of smut that I have written outside of RPing - which I haven't done in a long, long time (lack of time and lack of RP partners will do that to you). I'm a bit rusty, and my smut has always been more delicate and less...well... _smutty_? Just a personal preference, I suppose, but let's hope it turned out at least...okay. Haha.
> 
> Anyways, I hope that everyone enjoyed this, and I sincerely thank you all for the support and kind words! I hope you all look forward to more writing for this coupling, and hopefully much more!


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